


Silk Roads

by GenderlessPerson



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark!Harry, Death to all Muggles!, Dimension Travel, F/M, Incest, Kidfic, Killing, M/M, Master of Death Harry, Mpreg, Muggle Hater!Harry, Sane!Voldemort, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Time Travel, Torture, Two TMR/Voldemort, Under revision, evil!Harry, new identity, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 155,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenderlessPerson/pseuds/GenderlessPerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the road you're on is already in the verge of crumbling, you could either choose to foolishly continue onward, or turn back and change paths. Harry decided on the latter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumble would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.

_The image was drawn by the magnificent_ **yepmissis**!

* * *

  **Chapter 1: Traveling through space, time, and world**

* * *

In a barely lit room with only an unmade bed and a dark-tinted window, there was a man sitting on a cushioned throne, simply staring outside with dulled muddy red eyes. A stranger that has never laid eyes upon his person would have unmistakably thought him a mannequin doll - if not for the rise and fall of his clothed chest.

Other than his youthful appearance of an _almost_ adult, he represented a weary old man with jaded eyes behind those round framed rose-tinted glasses perched upon his perfectly straight nose. His whole being ripples with barely contained power, spiking at random intervals, and distorting the air surrounding him in an almost chaotic yet defeated manner.

The state of the air outside of his homely wards were polluted, forcing him to wear a neoprene half-mask that was charmed with an air-ventilator charm – which was currently laying on his nightstand – if he so wishes to go hunting for food or entertainment.

He misses the sky that was once upon a time blue – now an awful shade of dark green with a tint of black, or the ocean that used to be so vast and beautiful, now just a desolated wasteland of sand and bones. He could no longer stand the sight of his crumbling planet, so he hid the ugliness behind his rose-tinted glasses. 

He knew that it was cowardly to hide reality, but what else could he do?

Gaia’s fate had been decided long ago. She would crumble. No matter how much She cried or pleaded with him in Her bouts of insanity. He had learnt the hard way how to ignore Her pleas, lest She broke his mind even further than it already was. Even with all the power he held within the palm of his hand, he could never produce an offspring to help his dying Planet without a partner who wasn't infertile. The other reason would be that he fears being involved as he had not had any positive human contact in his entirely long life; more so after being forcefully restrained on a cold metal table where he was littered with incisions on a daily basis.

He had developed a condition called merinthophobia, much to his disgust and eternal self-hatred.

The man - for that was what he was, as he could never be called a boy even if he were to look the part – turned towards his only companion on his lap; a common garter snake that he had stumbled across, and started to hiss out a random conversation to distract his wondering mind.

Just as his state of mind began to waver in his usual bouts of insanity, a dark mist started to form from the corner of his eyes. This caused his damaged mind to sharpen and focus, wanting and sincerely hoping that it was someone or something unnatural. Maybe even be called  _Magical_. 

His wish was soon granted when a hooded figure was formed, their cloak billowing eerily with their hood shading their features. The cloaked figure was tall; around six three, and thin. Incredibly so. 

They both stared at one another behind their respective shades before he broke the somewhat tensed silence. 

“State your name and the purpose of your visit.” His voice was raspy from years of disuse, but it still came out strong and demanding.

“I have many names, but the most recognizable is Death.” The cloaked being introduced Itself with a somewhat airy and carefree tone as if It had just stated the obvious. 

His facial expression didn't change, but he scoffed inwards. Without even a twitch of his fingers, he conjured a needle and poked himself. It had itched at best. At least, he knew that his mind did not conjure this whole scenario. 

“You are neither dreaming nor hallucinating.” He had already figured but thank you for pointing the obvious, oh mysterious one. 

“Have you finally decided to take me away?” He questioned, his muddy red eyes glowing to scarlet as they narrowed in suspicion, yet there was hope as well. _Hope_ that this being would take away all of his sufferings and let him attain peace. 

“In a way.” The being answered slowly.

The only indication that he was listening was the subtle twitch of his crossed ankles. Death glided towards the seated man and stopped at an arm’s length.

This made him stiffen, but he refused to cower away. He refused to show any sign of weakness. 

“You should have noticed by now, that you do not age like normal humans, both Muggle – or Parasites by your dictionary – and Magical humans alike.” He hummed his agreement but remained silent. “Death is eternal, and so is its Master. As I exist forever, so do you.”

He thought about it for a moment, and then it suddenly clicked.

“The Deathly Hallows.” 

“Correct. How pleased I am that your mind has not grown dulled with age. Just like wands, the Hallows choose their rightful master; you were and are the only one worthy enough to hold all three.”

He was either oblivious or chose to ignore Death's not so subtle hint of his lack of intelligence. 

The being seemed to take the hint of his state of denial, so he dropped the subject momentarily. “The humans are slowly dying, and so is this Planet along with Magic. The road you walk is already on the verge of crumbling. Will you go onwards, or will you turn back and change paths?”

He snapped from his daze-like state. “Are you indicating that alternate universes do indeed exist?”

“Certainly.”

A simple yet unnerving answer. That knowledge brought forth a lot of possibilities. He continued to look fixedly at his _servant_ (?) before he furrowed his brows in suspicion. The whole thing sounded too good to be true - like a scam. He would rather this being reap him and be done than to prolong his futile existence. 

“What do you require in exchange if I were to agree?“ Nothing was ever free, as he had painfully learnt.

Death only shrugged. The way It shrugged even looked elegant. 

He hummed in thought. He could recklessly agree and change roads, or he could continue rotting away in this wasteland called Earth. Tough choice. Note the sarcasm. 

“I have questions.” Death gave a sharp nod, and he swore that the deity's shoulder seemed to slowly relax. “How are you going to _move_ me if I were to agree?”

“As we will be staying for an unlimited amount of time, Master will become an infant.” Death simplified. They were silent for a few more minutes before his brow twitched.

“It would be greatly appreciated if you were to elaborate further on the subject.”

Death chuckled lowly. It was not a pleasant sound, mind you, and he had to hold back a shudder. 

“Your body and soul are both well acquainted with one other. If I were to force your soul to exit the body that it feels safest, the results would be… messy to put it lightly.”

“I will assume that this is the reason as to why my body could still function even after my head has been severed from my neck.”

“Your assumption is correct, my _Master_. Your body is linked to your soul, and your soul is linked to mine. The only way for you to stay at an unfamiliar place and restart your whole life with your current body is that I would have to force it into being a newborn.”

“And this will lead me into being raised by matrons from an orphanage.” He spat with contempt. One childhood filled with abuse was more than enough for him. 

“Please allow me to fully explain before that pretty little head of yours even bring up the idea that I will allow my Master to be cared by mere mortals.” His shoulder relaxed slightly and he gave a jerky nod for It to continue. “Undisclosed blood adoption.”

He continued to wait for an explanation that would probably not occur if he were to not ask. They will need to work on this in the future.

“… Would it kill for you to elaborate without my asking?”

“Perhaps it would.”

The now scarlet eyed man crossed his arms over his chest in a sulky way that made his servant chuckle with mirth, though his face remained eerily impassive. Decades of not moving his facial muscles did that. 

“Forgive me, my Master, if you were as old as I am, you would find entertainment in leaving out… certain details during an explanation.” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “But as I am rather… fond of you, I will keep this habit to a minimum.”

“That would be greatly appreciated.” 

“After your body’s de-aging, I will need two Magicals of your choosing.“

He tapped his chin in thought. That was an interesting idea. 

“What if I were to want _parents_ that are practically non-existent here?” An idea has formed within his wicked mind. 

"I assume you will want to be in a specific lineage?”

“The Gaunts.” He agreed.

“There are other universes where Marvolo Gaunt has siblings or more children.” 

He gave an upward tilt of the lips, glad that Death had picked up on his want to be related to the man he highly respected.

“Where Marvolo has a sibling who gave birth to a son?”

“There is.”

“Will I retain my looks?” He traced his features with feather light touches absentmindedly, as if to memorize them just in case.

“The blood adoption will not interfere with your current appearance, but would you allow me to remove all your scars?”

“No, these scars… Each one is a reminder of how _weak_ I was, without them I would lose my ambition of growing stronger. Do not mind them, please continue.” He fingered the scar that was wrapped around his neck – mockingly alike a collar – with immense resentment.

Death eyed the scar, and underneath Its shadowed hood, Its eyes flashed with murderous rage.

“Very well. I will personally compel the two to have sexual intercourse with one another before modifying your bearer’s memory of your birth. As much faith as I have with my own form of magic - that mortals have no way of detecting - it would be safer for them to act on it rather than to have someone question your entrance to the world.”

It waited patiently for Its Master to digest the information before It continued.

“I will be the one who cares for you whilst you are still a newborn.” Now he looked doubtful for a split second before returning to his default, serene expression. Death either missed or ignored it as It continued. “I am in need of a few minutes to find such a universe.”

“You may take as long as you need.” What was a few minutes compared to a century of nothingness?

Death closed Its eyes underneath Its hood and relaxed Its body whilst still remained standing. And here he thought he was the only one with the ability to fall _asleep_ with his feet still firmly planted on the ground. 

Half an hour passed by with the scarlet-eyed man petting his pet before Death twitched.

“Master, I have found an alternate universe where Marvolo Gaunt indeed has a little brother, named Markos Gaunt. He ran away from home once he has reached the tender age of seventeen and after killing his father, he raped a woman; leading him to have a son named Marbas. I have already compelled him and your blood mother into having sexual intercourse.”

“And who is this blood mother?”

“Master should use those things in between his ears.” He did not just twitch. Really. He didn't.

“Oh, a mystery then. Any more _surprises_?”

“Some people are not born. Some things have yet been discovered or invented. Many mysteries are left unsolved whilst new ones are recorded.”

“So what you’re saying is… That universe is alike but different in a way. This would mean that the information or history here should be crossed referenced, lest I say things that have yet to exist.” He placed his fingers on his chin as he thought out loud. “And the date?”

“1943 of October.”

“My birth will be around July of 1944? How coincidental.” There was no such thing as coincidence, as they say. "How would you be traveling?"

“I can travel around without any restriction, Master.”

“Then you would not mind holding onto my treasures whilst we travel, would you?”

“Not at all." 

The raven haired man waved his hand and an emerald green trunk flew towards him, already shrunk and secured to the highest possible level. All of his important items and trinkets were already packed beforehand in case of any emergency scenarios – even though that's highly unlikely since his wards were (are) impeccable, one can never be too sure. It seemed that his previous mentor’s word of _Constant Vigilance_ has been drilled into his mind, he idly mused.

Death accepted the miniature trunk with a tilt of Its head and stored it inside Its cloak.

“Please hold on to it with care until I request of them. They're my life.”

“Yes, my Master. Before I forget, I have a gift for you.”

“Oh?” A flash of surprise from his scarlet eyes came as fast as it went.

Death pulled out a vial that was covered with scratch marks from Its cloak. The inside was filled with a silvery mist. “The things I touch usually tend to be damaged or rot away unless I wear gloves.”

The man almost wanted to lean away from the entity. But that would show weakness. 

“May I ask what that is?”

“A partially damaged glass vial; often used to store potions or medication.”

A frustrated sound was made by him before he sighed in resignation. 

“And what is inside said glass vial that you hold within your right hand at this very moment?”

Death made an amused sound from the back of Its throat.

“A soul.”

“A soul?”

“Yes, a soul.”

“And whose soul is that you are holding imprison?”

“One of its pieces used to be stored inside a black diary - before I forcefully sewn all of them together.”

“Perhaps you are referring to a black diary, one with an initial of T.M.R. on the cover and an inscription of T.M. Riddle inside the first page of said diary?” It nodded to both his spoken and unspoken question before handing the vial to Its Master. He accepted and stared at it in awe.

It was really beautiful. Who would’ve thought that such a corrupted soul could be so breathtaking?

“Why are you giving me his soul? Will he be following us?”

“Indeed, he will, but as he has no body, I am devastated to say that you will need to provide him with one _naturally_.”

“…”

“…?”

“… Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“If what you are saying is indeed what I am thinking - then yes.”

“You–..! I need to produce a body for him!? An actual body that comes from _myself_!?”

“You have always dreamt of being a father… Was I, by chance, wrong in assuming such things?”

“Of course not!” His composure and reputation - which took decades to complete - was utterly destroyed the second he facepalmed with a pinched expression. “That means I need to have sex with a random bloke so that you could plant this soul inside a developing fetus?” He couldn’t contain a shudder at the thought of being intimate with a stranger, or anyone in fact. He handed back the fragile container and It placed the vial inside one of Its many (unseen) pockets.

“You will insert it, not I and before you ask, my Master, he will not retain his appearance but would take much of yours.”

“What do you mean I will implant the soul? And perhaps you do not know, but we do look very much alike.” Much to Ginevra’s horror. He could still remember when his features had started to gradually morph after he had hit his 17th birthday. Only the youngest Weasley knew whom his features were turning into, and it had freaked her so much that she almost drove a knife through his chest when he was having a sleep over at the Burrow.

“Indeed, I do know, as well as to the reason why.” 

He made an irritated sound and huffed out in frustration. It has been so long since he showed any emotion other than boredom, rage and bloodlust freely. In just over an hour, Death had already accomplished the things that even his toys had failed to do.

Death stared at its Master as he continued to mumble out incoherent hisses.

“What about his memories?” He finally huffed out.

“All are intact.”

“Would that not mean he will remember his life… and death?”

“Indeed, he will.”

“He would kill me once he finds out I was his killer.” Although it might take a long time to connect the dots since he looked nothing like what he used to. 

“And he would not succeed.”

He sighed (he has been doing that a lot today). He knew that even with the soul’s memories intact, he would still out-power the soul. He was a monster in human skin after all. A man-made monster.

"Will there be... Two Riddles running around?" Just one of them was a nightmare. Imagine two!

"No." Thank Circe for small mercies. Though he was suspicious since Death had a creepy secretive grin. 

“Should I have a need to apparate all the way to – the ruined – Gringotts for gold?”

“There would not be any need. Death’s Vault has always been _everywhere_ and … untouchable.”

“Excellent… Will I be getting my own name?”

“If you so wish to.”

“Finally, I get to choose a much better name than my current mundane one! Perhaps –“

As they continued their discussion, his mind thought about the things he would be doing in the near future. The pros definitely exceeded the cons. He would’ve killed himself if he continued to live… no, _survive_ in this world he was currently in - this dying planet. The problem was that he was just unable to _remain_ dead for long.

Oh, he had tried killing himself plenty of times. From slitting his throat to beheading himself. From holding his breath to drowning himself. From setting his body aflame to throwing himself into a volcano. Everything he tried had failed. When his limbs (and head) was cut off, they would reattach themselves – he didn't even know how, it just did – even if he was halfway across the world. They would just pop up the next day or something.

The first time he had to reattach his limb, he had screeched like a little girl in the face of a pedophile. It was that painful. All the skin and veins and nerves and muscles and bones and… everything, connecting forcefully back.

He had gotten used to the feeling with time and now he would just feel an odd sensation if he were to accidentally cut his fingers. Perhaps his reactions and feeling to pain were numb and void. Perhaps he had acquired a medical condition called congenital analgesia. What the crappy medical name means is that the person cannot feel physical pain. He would only feel an itch or a blunt force like when your friend pokes your sides.

Other than re-attaching limbs, if his lungs were filled with water, they would force him to hurl everything out, even his stomach contents. It was unpleasant but bearable.

The most he hated was his skin. His burnt skin would drop off, alike a snake during their shedding period. It was awfully itchy and would lead to him scratching his skin off – which was counterproductive, he might add. Not tickly itching, it was itching that you _need_ to scratch to satisfy yourself. It took a lot of control, but he managed after a few month of being a no-skin human.

After finalizing everything to the tiniest details to avoid any potential dangers to his new identity, he narrowed his eyes as he stroke his pet’s head.

“When will we be leaving?”

“Now if you so wish it.” It held out Its hand, waiting for him to accept it.

He tilted his head towards the window and removed his glasses as he fixed his gaze at the polluted green sky the last time. The sky was one of the first things that had changed after the air was polluted by poisonous chemicals and gasses. Humans were forced to wear masks to avoid dying. He would not miss such a sight.

He placed his smaller, yet heavily scarred hand upon Death’s bigger and ashen colored palm. 

As soon as the entity’s fingers entwined with his, he felt his body shudder. His scarlet eyes widened and brightened to crimson in unmasked pain. It was a feeling he had become unfamiliar with. Excruciating pain that he once felt when his equal tortured him. When Parasites experimented on him.

He felt his bones, organs, innards and the likes, melt and he couldn't help but scream in distress. It was unbearable as he felt his skin tighten, blood boiling, and muscles forcing themselves to break apart.

His vision started spinning with rainbow-colored laser beams, and everything became blurry as tears trailed down his slowly fattening cheeks. Just as inky black spots appeared, an arm hooked around his (tiny) body and he disappeared.

On the year 2157, Lord Harry James Potter vanished, leaving only a snake lying on a still warm throne behind.

* * *

_**Rainbows and Sunshine,  
** _ _**GenderlessPerson**_

_**[Revised: 15 September 2015]** _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Second Childhood Years**

“Language of Humans”

**_“Parseltongue”_**

* * *

_31 st July 1944  
_ _Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

A snake with unnaturally intelligent, glowing emerald eyes went unnoticed by all as it observed a woman wearing a grey dress uniform, whom was crouching down and scrutinizing a very well offed basket, that was surrounded by a flock of butterflies on the building's doorstep. She inhaled sharply as she spotted a newborn inside. Whilst she turned around to call for her employer, the snake slithered into the partly opened door, quick as lightning, and hid behind the first thing it saw. 

Footsteps were soon heard and the snake peeked out from behind a potted plant, completely out of view from the two female mortals. They talked for a few long minutes before they agreed on keeping the baby.

Death didn't want Its Master to be raised in such a place, but It had no choice. Harry had wanted a solid background, even if it were with Muggles. Its Master had then grumbled for at least half an hour - describing the Magical Mortals' lack of common sense for not building a Magical orphanage for the orphans - to relieve some pent up stress at the sheer idea of living with the species he so very much loathe. 

“The letter says that his name is Marcaunon S. Gaunt.” Woman number one stated as she scanned the letter that the baby held.

“What do you suppose the S. stands for? And who in their right mind would name their child Marcaunon? What does it even mean?” Woman number two questioned, looking rather put off.

They soon decided to leave it as it is and let the boy decide on his own once he was older.  The snake shook Its head at the show of irresponsibility but decided that it was better than picking a random name that would displease Its Master. It knew that Its Master would look at It in disappointment when he finds out that It had forgotten to write down Its Master’s middle name.

The second woman, Mrs. Cole, instructed her employee to place the newborn in one of the nurseries whilst she wobbled back to wherever hole she came from. The snake followed and slipped into the room just as the door closed, to witness the woman transferring Its Master roughly from the basket and into the cot. It hissed in displeasure but remained out of view.

Once the woman left, the snake was soon enveloped in a mist, and a figure draped in a black cloak stepped out from within. It glided towards the newest resident of Wool’s Orphanage and cradled the baby to Its chest; checking for any injuries that he may have received from the rough transfer.

When It was sure that Its Master was unharmed, It removed the sleeping spell that It had conveniently placed beforehand. The baby soon opened his eyes, revealing dulled blue. It whispered some words in a language unknown to men, soothing the baby as well as improving his eyesight and hearing.

“Master, the trip was successful and your body is all in working condition. Nothing is amiss.” The figure, also known as Death, reported dutifully to Its Master as It placed feather-like touches on the baby’s cheek.

Said baby gave a somewhat jerky nod, and whined when his muscles refused to cooperate. Death only chuckled and continued to sooth the baby, promising that It would take care of Its Master whilst they were alone. 

After much reassurance, the baby boy soon fell asleep, still in the arms of his faithful servant. Death’s emerald eyes softened as It returned Its physically young Master to his cot (rather reluctantly It might add), and disappeared without another word.

Only a summer azure butterfly was left to watch the newborn sleep.

* * *

_December 1945_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

The orphanage was lively with the children’s shouts and laughter, all excited with the bright decorations surrounding the playroom. They were crowded together, both young and old, around a big Christmas tree. The caretakers had smiles on their faces as they piled up presents underneath the tree, much to the children’s glee.

In the darkest corner of the room, a toddler was sitting on the floor with a serene expression, his aura practically screaming ‘ _stay_ _away’_. Many of the caretakers were wary of this little boy; he was abnormally silent and a few white-winged butterflies would always be present on his small shoulders or within the bird nest they called his hair.

He never once cried out in hunger, and his diaper was never in need of changing. Unbeknownst to them, the little boy had a servant who served all his needs. 

The orphans avoided him like a plague, knowing that he was not your everyday baby. They believed that he was cursed. Not a single child escaped his ire when they disturbed him. On the other hand, the caretakers left him alone after a few weeks of his diaper clean of any defecation.

The boy’s name was mostly unsaid. The adults would normally refer to him as _‘that boy’_ , whilst the children would call him _freak_.  He paid the degrading names no mind. He remembered once upon a time when he thought his name was Freak. Only when he reached five he understood perfectly that he was called Harry, eleven when he found out his family name to be Potter, and whilst reading, found out that his full name was Harry James potter. He was moody for days at finding out full name due to a book of all things.

That boy’s name was now Marcaunon, and he was not a happy toddler. Being forced to attend a Parasite holiday was not one of his to do list. He would rather celebrate Yuletide with his servant (not that Death wanted to) and ignore such a devastating holiday with snot-covered children running around and screaming their lungs out. He wished they would scream it out literally.

“Now children, gather around so we can sing some Christmas carols!” One of the female caretakers crooned, her wrinkled face bright with laugh lines as the children cheered.

Marcaunon was traumatized severely when they sung. His eardrums felt like they were about to burst at hearing tone-deaf _singing_ voices mashed together. He resisted the urge to clasp his ears with brutal force and forced himself to tune out the noise.

“Beautifully sang, children!” Not bloody likely. It would even cause corpses to turn in their graves in horror. “Now queue up so you can receive your presents.”

The children rushed and pushed one another brutally and Marcaunon was glad that he was alone in the corner that he dubbed as his. He was not about to get pushed and shoved for a mere present that would likely turn out to be second hand toys or clothing.

Whilst he was busy picturing the children puking rainbows of happiness, he missed the head Matron, Mrs. Cole, heading towards him with a scowl on her rather unpleasant face, which was beyond saving even with plastic surgery.

“Boy!” Said _boy_ snapped his head towards the voice and forced the hate in his eyes to vanish into nothing. “Are you deaf boy!? Go and line up for your gift. Not that you deserve anything at all.”

Mrs. Cole grabbed his frail arm in an unforgiving grip – forcing his butterflies to fly away – and proceeded to drag him towards the other children. It took all he could to not detach the hand via a cutting curse. 

Marcaunon didn’t bother hiding his murderous glare whilst he was all but hauled towards the others. The crowd split apart in fear at the look both adult and child wore, not daring to make even the slightest of noise, afraid that the two would turn their anger towards the unlucky soul. 

She took a random wrapped box and shoved it into his arms, before she walked away with a baleful sneer. Marcaunon only toddled back to his corner after _receiving_ his _gift._

After a few minutes of tensed silence, the other children went back in line and they continued as if they were never interrupted. The scarlet eyed toddler opened his gift with disinterest. He was right; inside was a second hand toy. The positive thing was that it was a serpent.

The toddler observed it for a moment and decided that he rather liked his new toy. It was an albino plush, with beautiful ruby eyes and a few stitches littering its body. He would have to clean it before sleeping with it though.

* * *

_August 1946_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

The sound of bells could be heard throughout the building, indicating that a family had arrived to look for a child to adopt. The children ran down towards the _adoption room_ in excitement whilst the pre-teens and teenagers walked at a more sedated pace.

A toddler, not more than two winters, was seen staggering towards the room with a badly contained grimace. His muscles were still in the process of developing and he loathed walking (read; waddling). It made him look similar to that to a penguin.

Ever since he had re-learnt how to communicate, he had been bemoaning about how his life was unfair. Death said he was whining, but he denied it with venom. It was beneath him to whine.

Inside of the room, there was not one, but two sets of couples that were looking for a child to adopt. They were quick to dismiss the teenagers as they wanted a child that they could still cuddle. The teens just shrug their shoulders in resignation and walked out, some more disappointed than others. 

“Jeremy, look! That girl’s so cute!” One of the women cooed at a little girl whom had just walked into the adoption room. 

“I thought you wanted a boy, Charlet sweetie?” Her husband questioned in amusement whilst she huffed and slapped his arm playfully.

The girl in question giggled and gave the bint her best puppy dog eyes. The scarlet eyed toddler scoffed inwardly, knowing that the little girl was actually a bully. She was always seen holding a stick and hitting it at other children that were younger than her. Said stick closely resembled a smelting stick that was once upon a time used by dear Duddikins, which he might add, made him all the more disgusted of her. 

She had once tried to hit him with that wretched stick of hers. He of course, did not tolerate her actions and _accidentally_ broke her wrist via a fall. She only thought about it as bad luck and continued with harassing him. Sadly for her, he was not a forgiving person, even to children. The reason why her right arm was currently in a cast. 

Whilst the first couple was cooing at the bully, the second couple walked and observed the rest with critical eyes. 

From his observation, the woman was probably a person whom teaches children. A kindergarten teacher perhaps. The man was an office worker, judging from his attire. He probably rushed from work to fetch his wife before coming here.

When they reached Marcaunon, one of them made a move to reach for him.

He was quick to take a step back to avoid the incoming appendage. The owner of said hand startled before she gave him a warm smile.

“No worries, little boy. Just pushing your hair aside.”

She reached forward again, and he forced himself to stay rooted. The woman tucked his curtains called hair behind his ears and looked contemplated at him. Her husband and her shared a silent conversation with another before nodding.

“What do you think, dear? He will most definitely grow up into a handsome lad.” It was quite shallow of her to look for a child that would be handsome or pretty once they grow older.

The scarlet eyed toddler knew that his looks were his selling point, and usually uses them to his advantage. Though, he didn't know exactly what made him so attractive in the eyes of others. He had dark messy (beyond messy actually) shoulder-length hair that usually covered his doe like scarlet eyes, which was enhanced by dark long lashes. A straight nose, high cheekbones that were still engulfed in baby fat, pinkish cupid bow lips, sharp chin, and a pale complexion. Overall, his features were quite androgynous.

He also knew that once he physically matures and reaches the age of sixteen, his looks would become more boyish. Patience was the key. 

“Handsome? More like beautiful! I do believe that he’ll be a heartbreaker once he’s older.” Her husband replied with a small smile. “What’s your name, young man?”

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, a child next to him made a dramatic effort to be cute, calling their attention with broken English. This distracted the couple as they cooed at the child’s eagerness. Yuck.

Marcaunon closed his mouth, relieved that he would not have to speak with disgusting Parasites. Whilst they were busy, the first couple came and the woman – Charlet was it? – rudely snatched his spectacles from his face. His whole body froze at the sheer audacity of the Parasite.

How dare this… this complete waste of oxygen that could be more useful as fertilizer _dare_ take what was his without his consent!?

“Honey! Look at this child! What a beautiful… boy. Or is it a girl?” The woman grinned childishly at her husband whilst waving his beloved eye-wear around. “And you shouldn’t wear such an ugly thing! What a waste of such an angelic face!" 

This imbecile had the audacity to snatch his glasses, point at him, called him an _IT_ , and wave said glasses around without a care whilst calling it ugly!? How bloody dare she!

“Now now, sweetheart. You shouldn’t–“ Her husband didn’t get to finish as one of the caretakers screeched and was quick to snatch his eye-wear out of her hand.

The caretaker gave (more like shove it on his face) the toddler back his item before reprimanding the adults that the children were possessive over their belongings, and they would do well as to not take anything forcefully – especially from orphans. The caretaker kept glancing at him nervously as he slowly cleaned his glasses of any fingerprints and perched it back onto his nose.

Ah sweet relieve. He was used to looking at the world behind tainted glasses, and it hurts his retina at how bright everything was. The orphanage workers were confused as to where his specs came from back then, but they summed it up to his oddities. Mrs. Cole was more inclined to believe he stole it, but he cared not for her opinion and thoughts. 

“Why don’t you both look at others? This one’s a trouble maker…” She whispered to the couple with a worried voice.

Whilst they were (forcefully) ushered to look at other children, Marcaunon called upon his magic and placed an accident-prone curse at the bint whom dared to call him an _it_. He was not a genderless person, and was obvious a male. His magic was quick to respond, almost eager like a puppy, and only after a few seconds, the first accident happened.

She had tripped over a toy truck and hit her head – rather hard he might add – on the wall, denting it in the process. The children and staff shot fearful glances at him, knowing that he was behind every little accident that had happened after his arrival. Which was false by the way. He only caused ninety-five percent of it. 

The adults were quick to help the bint up. She reassured them that she was alright whilst she held her bleeding forehead, but the caretakers still fretted over her; one even went to fetch a first aid kit. After her little injury was treated, they continued to survey the children.

Soon, three kids were picked in total. He was sadly one of them.

Whilst they were being moved towards Mrs. Cole’s office, Charlet felt a force similar to a push and she lost her balance just as they were at the top of the staircase. She cried out and a second before she fell, she saw the toddler that she wanted, grin dementedly at her, his eyes glowing molten red behind those rose-tinted glasses. She was suddenly very frightened of that child - no, not a child. A devil. 

The sound of bones snapping made them all, except Marcaunon, pale.

Paramedics were soon called and Mrs. Cole informed the other adults that they would have to cancel their plans for now. Marcaunon was banned from attending anymore future adoptions, and received punishment even without any evidence that point out that he was indeed the culprit. He was inwardly pleased at the results. 

As the days passed by, he heard from one of the caretakers that Charlet had died of internal bleeding whilst on her way to the hospital because they arrived late. Traffic jam they said. The news brought a slight upward tilt of his lips.

* * *

_July 1947_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

**_[Warning: Child abuse and slight torture. Skip if you want~]_ **

The head Matron, Mrs. Cole, was busy drinking her beloved whisky as she tried to forget her problems. She was stressed and shaken by the memory of a similar boy that once upon a time, stayed in the very same orphanage and room as the current residence of room 27.

She had repudiated at first, but the signs were hard to miss. The boy was eerily alike another young adult she knew. They are identical as twins (only difference was their age), and only because of the framed glasses was she able to stand looking at the boy.

Whilst Tom – his name still brought a shiver down her spine – was a neat boy who kept his appearance at top priority, Marcaunon refused to wear shoes or brush the mane he called hair. He wore strings on his toes that coiled – somewhat like a snake – all the way up his ankles.  She found out from one of her workers that they were called anklets and toe rings; primarily used for decoration purposes rather than protection. She never did figure out how he kept the soles of his feet from being dirtied by grass and mud.

Other than his appearance, Marcaunon Gaunt reminded her too much of Tom Riddle in personality and demeanor (although Marcaunon was the more silent child).

He showed that he could hurt the other children just like Tom, and he even demonstrated that by killing an adult. He was worse than Tom could ever be as a child.

She remembered how she and her staff brought the children to attend the usual Sunday Church Service, the Priest had all but banned the messy haired boy from coming in the future. Whispers reached her ears that the Priest had deemed him a devil’s spawn.

She had once planned to banish the devil from within Tom Riddle, but that didn’t work out too well. The boy became colder and more guarded then ever. Mrs. Cole was a religious woman, and she believed that Marcaunon _is_ a demon, not possessed by one. She was a determine woman as well.

She had tried to bring the toddler to another Church just a few days ago, but he refused and sneered at her religious beliefs; this made her suspect that something was wrong. Whilst she was taking a walk in the backyard, she heard him speaking in a devilish language with many hisses. It made her tremble in fright at the sight, and her suspicions of him heighten. It was the sign of possession. 

The head Matron had already called a team consisting of ten exorcists to eradicate the demon called Marcaunon, and she would stop at nothing to see that monster gone from her orphanage.

They promised that they would arrive tomorrow at noon with equipment and would like her to remove the other children from the vacancy whilst they perform the exorcism, perhaps take them to the park. She of course had agreed whole heartedly.

Now she just had to wait for tomorrow to arrive. For now, she would drink her worries away.

_OOOO_

Marcaunon struggled as a man forced another bottle of _holy_ _water_ down his throat yet again. He had no idea what had happened. A few minutes beforehand he was sleeping in his room, exhausted from his nightly Magic training, but then a group of men wearing black robes and crosses came towards him and hauled him non to gently onto a metal table with restraints.

This had brought back unwanted and hidden memories of his captive in his original universe and made his muscle spasm. It was a bad move on his part.

They had restrained him. Reality and memory overlapped. The men in black were slowly morphed into Parasites wearing white lab coats, with green masks on their faces and scalpels in their gloved hands. He screamed in panic, afraid that they would cut him open once again. He didn’t want to be their experiment any longer. He thought his life as their test subject was over.

“No no no no! Please no more! Mercy… Please mercy!”

“A demon begging for mercy? You deserve, and we shall offer none!”

With that, the scientist continued to force water (sterile water?) down his throat to silence him.

Objects were soon flying around as his sloppy magic tried to help him. His body trembled in fright as he could only see lab coats and tools meant for cutting brought to him. They shouted at him, demanding that he leave this plane and went back to where he came from.

Go back to where? Why were they shouting? He was confused and terrified. The child in him screamed for him to wail and cry out for his protector. But when did he have a protector? Everyone had betrayed - left him. 

The men didn’t notice a beautiful translucent-winged butterfly in the room turning into a ball of blue light before disappearing.

Some of them hit and nudged him with silver crosses, whilst others would throw salt and water as they mumble incoherent things. He _begged_ them to stop – pride be damned – crying that he was human just like the rest of them.

Of course they didn’t.

They tore his clothes, stripped him to his birthday suit, and drew symbols on his torso with a silver dagger. He had a high pain threshold, and the only reason he cried was due to his anxiety, not the wounds. 

Why always him? Just because he was the only wizard left on Earth did not mean they could do this to him. Just because he was immortal does not make him any less human. Just because his blood could cure any diseases does not mean they could use him as a blood bank. He only wanted freedom, why could they not grant him that. To be left alone.

Parasites fear what they do not understand, and because of this fear, they wiped out Magicals.

Blood was leaving him and his mind thought back to the time where they drained him till he was nothing but bones.

Just as the scientists (exorcists) were about to plunge a scalpel (dagger) into his chest, the room became extremely cold. This made them all freeze and shiver at the intense feeling. The adult part of Marcaunon’s brain analyzed that it was a similar feeling to that of a Dementor. His child part shouted for his adult self to shut up and scream for help.

“You dare to make my Master _cry_ and bleed …” A soft yet chilly voice echoed throughout the room.

“It came out!”

“Continue the prayers!”

“Hurry!”

“Be gone, Demon!”

They were quick to continue but it made no difference. Nobody can chase Death away but Its Master.

Suddenly, one of the exorcist’s head flew, painting the floor and walls with his dirty blood.

The sound of Marcaunon groaning drew the attention of Death, and It froze. It turned Its head towards Its Master and the man closest to him.

The man’s arms were ripped apart by an unknown force and he screamed just before his tongue was wrenched out, and his eyes gouged from within its sockets. His body was soon littered with holes. His heart was the last to be pulled out and crushed.

One of the remaining eight rushed towards the door, but it was predictably locked. The man’s body was split into two from head to groin; painting the door and its surrounding area with blood and innards.

The shouting became louder as two of them ran towards the windows. They were unbreakable.

Death appeared behind them and crushed both their heads with Its bare hands. This made their grey matter splatter all over the glass. The sight would be gruesome to anyone.

Marcaunon’s scarlet eyes glossed over as his mind continue to fight, not knowing if this was all a nightmare or if this was reality.

Five were left and they were back to back in a circle, all of them chanting uselessly. One of them was suddenly pulled by his ankle towards Death. The man lost his bladder control in fear.

Death wrinkled Its nose in distaste at seeing a grown man wet himself and decided to emasculate him as punishment. The others that were staring in horror winced when their colleague had his manhood ripped apart and testicles crushed. 

The man was then left to bleed to his death whilst Death glided towards the remaining four. They backed into a corner and one of them was suddenly lifted by something invisible. His body started to bend backwards rather slowly and after a minute, his spine broke and he lay folded on the floor just before his head exploded.

Just as sudden, one of the three remaining man was torn into two, his upper body still very much alive while his lower lay on the floor uselessly. He screamed as he felt his innards slowly being pulled out of his body, and died a painfully slow death as his heart veins finally snapped and plopped onto the floor, his body following soon after.

“M-m-m-m-monster.” One of the last two men stuttered.

The second last man’s skin started peeling itself and he screamed as salt began to enter his wounds. Soon after his skin was all over the floor, his veins were slowly removed whilst he trashed on the bloodied tiles. His muscles, fat and organs were followed soon after; leaving only a stained red skeleton behind.

“I will see all of you in my Realm soon.” Death finally spoke as the last man shat himself, quite literally.

Death pulled out Its scythe and beheaded the man with a clean swipe.

It made Its way towards Its Master in a hurried yet elegant manner, and pulled the dagger out of his chest. This made Its Master cough out more blood whilst staring at his servant dully.

“Forgive me for my delay, Master.” It whispered as It started to heal Its Master’s body.

The wounds were all gone, but the symbols carve into his skin remained. Yet another reminder for the poor boy. Death extended Its Master’s glamour over them – It had lost count of how many scars Its Master had hidden – and wrapped Its Master in a blanket.

It soon cradled Its Master like It had always done during the night and was hugged weakly in return.

“Forgive me Master…” It whispered yet again.

“T-there… is… no-noth… hing… to forgive…” Marcaunon replied slowly as he closed his eyes. “Wh-where?”

“Orphanage. You’re free Master. I won’t allow anyone else to hurt you. Ever again. I promise - and Death always keeps his promises.” It shushed. 

“Sleep. I will stand guard.” Marcaunon’s half lidded eyes felt heavy. He trusted Death to protect him, and with that thought in mind, he succumbed to Morpheus' embrace. Before he passed out however, he saw a blue light hovering at Death’s shoulder. He would have to repay his sinner afterwards, was his last thoughts' process. 

_OOOO_

Mrs. Cole regretted calling _professional_ exorcists over to her orphanage. The room they had used for their _failed_ exorcism was sealed off. The smell of blood refused to disappear. One of her workers had stumbled across a strange rotting smell and went to investigate, only to faint at the sight of what appeared to be a massacre.

Police were soon called to investigate the matter and they had yet to find the murderer, but she knew who it was; the demon. The case was written off as a Cult Ritual since there were strange triangular symbols drawn around the room in the corpses blood.

After they had removed the body and innards, she had seen the little demon at his usual corner with his arms hugging that creepy toy snake – its eyes were glowing like rubies. He was smiling. A bright smile; as if he had won the lottery.

It made her blood chill at how a small child could murder these grown man and yet remained unaffected. He was definitely a monster.

**_[Warning: End. Summary of this 'year': Marcaunon was exorcised]_ **

* * *

_October 1948_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

**_“Master, since your hand is now strong enough to write – albeit a little shakily, I will be teaching you the duties of being the Master of Death.”_** Death stated solemnly from behind its Master.

 _“ **Morgana’s tits!”**_ He squeaked as he laid a hand over his chest to calm himself down. **_“Will you stop appearing rando– wait… duties?”_**

**_“Yes, duties. The Master of Death is not just a mere title.”_ **

**_“I wouldn't have guessed."_** He replied dryly. ** _"What does being MoD have anything to do with being able to hold a pen properly?”_ **

Death didn’t answer. It only pulled out a stack of yellow folders – with the Hallows’ symbol in the middle and the words _Confidential_ just below – from within Its cloak (Marcaunon had to wonder just how many pockets It had) and placed them onto his small study table, if it could be called that. He was now old enough, according to Mrs. Cole, to have his own room. Said room was just big enough to put a single bed, a small wooden table and chair, and a wardrobe.

 ** _“Please sit here, Master.”_** Death waved Its arm towards the wooden chair.

He sat at the indicated seat and Death stood behind him. Its long fingers placed a bottle of green ink, fountain pen and a slim green notebook beside the stack and It leaned down, just touching the crown of Marcaunon’s head with Its chest.

**_“This notebook has the information required for the completion of these folders. Shall we go through them slowly?”_ **

**_“On All Hallows’ Eve…?”_ **

**_“Now would be a good time, Master.”_ **

He nodded and opened said notebook reluctantly. Today was supposed to be a holiday! The day where Magicals recharge their Magic.

**_\--Master of Death’s reference book--_ **

**_This notebook will be an important item for the newly made Master of Death. It contains all the required information that is somewhat alike a teacher’s guide for their student’s exam paper grading._ **

(Marcaunon stared at Death with a raised eyebrow before returning his gaze on the notebook.)

**_When working on the Deathfiles (paperwork), this notebook will show you how many points to deduct or add to a soul’s ‘test’. You are highly advised to ask Death a completed Deathfile for an example before you start your work. But first, let us go through the point system._ **

**_It is important that before you judge the soul based on how many points you will be adding or deducting, read their life’s story and the reason as to why they committed a good deed or sin._ **

**_Firstly, a soul will have 25 points in the beginning of its life. _ **

**_To proceed towards the afterlife, or what mortals called Heaven, one must have the minimum of 100 points. The Spiritual Realm is where Team One is posted. If the souls wish to be reborn, they will need the permission of the Marshal and then the Master of Death or Death itself. _ **

( _“I have Teams that have sub-teams for each country. Team One is the team that takes care of the souls that have not committed a lot of sins in the Spiritual Realm. Team Two is posted inside the Astral Realm, where souls await their rebirth. Team Three is posted to the Nether Realm, where souls of the unworthy go to. Team Four is posted to the Central Realm, where souls that are to await their judgment linger. Team Five is posted here, in the Terra Realm; they work the same as Obliviators from the Ministry. And lastly, Team Six is posted in the Terra Realm as well; they collect the souls and pass said souls to Team Four. Any questions, Master?”_

Marcaunon organized his thoughts before he shook his head and continued to read.)

**_For a chance of being reborn, they will need a minimum of 700 points. Children under the age of five will be automatically placed within the Astral Realm since they are exempted from these rules, where Team Two is posted. _ **

**_Whilst some are lucky to achieve positive points, there are some unworthy ones. Once a soul’s points drop to negative (-1 and below), they will be placed inside the Nether Realm. They will then be punished by Team Three, and once the Marshal of the Team decided that they have been properly disciplined; they will be brought to the Astral Realm. But before they could have a chance of being reborn, the Master of Death (you), will need to authorize it. _ **

**_If the soul’s points do not reach the minimum number to proceed to the Spiritual Realm, but still remain positive, the Master of Death could decide whether that particular soul could be placed to either the Spiritual Realm or Nether Realm. This is where the biography comes in, and if still unsure, the MoD could interview the soul and decide upon finishing. _ **

**_-Next Page-_ **

**_Good Deeds_ **

_Sacrificing their life for a stranger: +8_  
_Sacrificing their life for a friend: +7_  
_Sacrificing their life for a family member: +6_  
_Sacrificing their life because they felt it was their duty: +4_  
_Sacrificing their life because they are in debt to them: +4_  
_Sacrificing their life because they are told to: +2_  
_Sacrificing their life unintentionally: +1_  
_Sacrificing their life due to other reasons not stated above: Point addition of your choosing_

 _Saving a stranger’s life with the risk of one’s own life: +3_  
…  
..  
.

(It continued in that manner for at least another 100 or so pages, much to Marcaunon’s growing dread. **_“I have to memorize all of them at some point of time, am I right?” “Yes Master.” “Merlin damn it…”)_**

**_-100 or so pages later-_ **

**_Sins_ **

_Committed genocide: -10_  
_Committed genocide with the intention of saving one person: -9_  
_Committed genocide due to orders: -8_  
_Committed genocide due to peer pressure: -8_  
_Committed genocide because they were forced to: -6_  
_Committed genocide unintentionally: -5_  
_Committed genocide with the intention of saving others: -4_  
_Committed genocide due to other reasons not stated above: Point deduction of your choosing_

 _Committed suicide: -9_  
…  
..  
.

**_-Skip to the end-_ **

**_As you may have noted, there are more sins committed than there are deeds, and higher point deduction than the deeds. Killing is sinful and usually comes with a high deduction rate._ **

**_It is highly advisable to memorize all the points listed above since this notebook highly doubts that the Master of Death wants to flip through more than half the pages just to find one sin (Sucks to be you)._ **

**_After adding or deducting points based on the soul’s actions (on the column beside said action), proceed to which Realm they will be placed and sign your approval at the bottom of the document. The signature MUST be corresponding, and must NOT BE CHANGED at any given moment or time. Be sure to place the correct document into the correct Deathfile._ **

**_Good Luck (you’ll need it),  
The handy notebook_ **

_**PS. If the documents showed a human that died at the age of 5 and below; skim through, sign, and move on. These souls are exempted from the system, even if they were to commit murder or suicide.** _

_**PPS. Souls with more than negative five hundred points will be damned and remain with the MoD until further notice.** _

_**PPPS. No usage of Magic is allowed.** _

 

_**\--End of Reference Book--** _

**_“Oh Salazar, my points would be more than negative seven hundred.”_** Marcaunon whispered as he closed the notebook.

**_“Do not fret, Master. You are unable to go to any of the Realms stated other than mine.”_ **

**_“I don’t know whether that was supposed to reassure me or not, but forget it. I have a question.”_ **

**_“Yes Master?”_ **

**_“Aren’t souls supposed to be old and recycled? Why do we not count the soul’s age?”_ **

**_“Majority are. Whilst these mortals advance in technology or Magick, they commit more sins and end up in the Nether Realm. The balance would be disrupted if new souls were not made. We do not count the age of these souls, but the age they lived whilst they are in their vessel.”_ **

**_“Who creates these new souls?”_ **

**_“The Creator.”_ **

**_“There are other… omnipotent beings?”_ **

**_“Indeed there are."_**

**_“Why are young children exempted?”_ **

**_“They have no definition of right and wrong.”_ **

**_“… I see… What now?”_ **

**_“I have already placed one of the completed folders on the very top.”_ **

Marcaunon opened said folder – Deathfile – and spread the documents on his table. There was indeed a full photo of the person, their time and date of death, and the reason of their death in one page. The other pages are all and – luckily – organized by the sins and deeds they committed as well as their life details.       

 ** _“These papers have the name, picture, biography, sins committed, deeds committed, date & time of death, and reason of death.”_**It pointed out each document with its finger. **_“If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask.”_**

He bobbed his head and scanned through the documents. Death’s signature made him pause.

**_“Death?”_ **

**_“Yes Master?”_ **

**_“Why am I doing the paperwork when you’ve already been doing them for perhaps, millenniums?”_ **

**_“I will be out reaping souls together with my minions. After you have signed these papers, I will then send them towards Team Four.”_ **

**_“Why can’t you keep doing it?”_** He asked sulkily with a pout that he would later deny.

**_“It would lessen my workload if you were to help me with some of the paperwork.”_ **

**_“Some?”_ **

**_“Yes, some. After reaping, the team’s Marshal would be the one to put all the soul’s information onto papers and into folders. They will then be passed to you for signing.”_ **

He sighed.

**_“Am I supposed to sign my full name or…”_ **

Death took the fountain pen and dipped it into the ink bottle, before writing down onto a blank piece of paper.

 **_"Master's would be something similar to this._  ** **_Name first, followed by signature and title."_ **

And wow, Death sure has some neat handwriting, albeit a little old fashioned. Who writes like that anyway? Well, Tom Riddle does, that's for sure. 

 ** _“Do not mind that your signature would be a little shaky, since you are still four years old. And be sure to sign it on the first document below. Magic is repelled from the paper, so you are unable to copy and paste.”_** That explains the third post script. 

 ** _“I see.”_** He nodded his thanks, arranged the documents and placed it within the folder. **_“I’ll try one now.”_ ** Death hummed Its agreement and leant closer to look over Its Master’s shoulder.

It took far longer than Marcaunon had thought. He had to flip through the notebook for every action the soul committed and write down the exact points. If he made a mistake, Death would point it out to him and he would have to once again flip through the notebook for the correct points. Death was stingy and didn’t want to tell the points for each action.

A total of thirty seven minutes, fifty three seconds and seven milliseconds for a single folder was not something he was proud of.

 ** _“An... acceptable time, but perhaps we will continue this once Master has memorized everything on the notebook?”_ ** Death asked drily.

Marcaunon leaned back against his seat with exhaustion.

 ** _“Agreed.”_** He hissed tiredly.

* * *

_June 1949_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

Time has its own amusing concept. It sometimes slows down or speeds up, depending much on the person in question.

Marcaunon learnt that the hard way as he waited for yet another year to pass. Ever since he was locked inside the orphanage with at least one staff keeping him under close observation, he had taken to watching the wall to pass time – not a very productive way to pass time, mind you.

Once when he had Death brought him a book about… well, death itself; his guard dog had paled and told him with a rather forced smile that he was not to read such stories, and confiscated his book. 

He was of course, very not amused by that, but not wanting to antagonize his _probation officer_  – lest he rot indoors till he reaches the age of eleven – gave the book away and continued on with his wall gazing.

He had learnt from experience that this applied to all the books he read. Mind, he did read gruesome subjects but he _was_ a bitter old man! All the child stories about princes coming to save their beloved princesses from towers or dragons were disgusting in his opinion. He would rather fight one in real life than read about a hero complex guy saving a worthless lump of meat before they fall in love and engage in making babies. Insert shudder here.

After thinking that books about death or torture methods were not allowed, he had asked Death to smuggle him a few books about Necromancy. He had always been fascinated by them.

That didn’t work quite as planned.

His probation officer took note of the title and got this far fetched idea that he would raise the dead. He was not far from the truth, but he was a Parasite. He does not have a clue about the magical world. This had confirmed Marcaunon’s theory about the staff being prejudiced about him. The other confirmation was that he saw _his book_ being read by one of the teenagers. Blasphemy!

Whilst he was frustrated, he had told Death to bring him the Tales of the Three Brothers. It was the Wizarding Worlds' concept of a fairy tale. As he had predicted, it was confiscated as well. This did not bode well for him and he had hit his head for hours with a smelting stick that his cousin was so fond of. The reason for his self-inflicted injury was that he had forgotten that it was possible to change the cover of a book with a spell.

However, the same staff took the glamoured book as well. This made Marcaunon confirmed his other theory that they didn’t want him to read anything lest he outsmarts the other orphan children – which he already has.

The conclusion for the overall week was that he was not allowed to read anything remotely knowledgeable. He was only allowed to read brain-cell damaging books such as Snow White for a day or so before they were confiscated as well. Sprouting nonsensical reasoning such as him having ideas about poison apples.  

But at least he had an hour or so to read his green notebook in the morning before he was forced out of his room by the guard. He didn’t want to lose his beauty sleep reading all night.

The second thing he tried – and failed – was playing with toys. It was mind numbing to have to talk to oneself with different voices for different toys. The ultimate reason as to why it failed wasn’t because it reduced his much needed brain cells – anything was better than staring at unattractive grey walls – but him talking in _parseltongue_ for his snake toys. This made the children and staffs alike almost go into cardiac arrest, not that he would mind. He had only one snake toy left in his possession because of his judgmental error (the one he had received as a Christmas _gift_ ). This of course led him into another day of wall watching.

Marcaunon has always been a stubborn person. He was not one to give up just because the situation called for it. No, he would have something to do by the end of the month or his _good intentions_ would all be for naught.  

He tried different methods of passing time. One of them was helping out in the kitchen. The kitchen lady was first doubtful but after much convincing, she agreed to his help. He was rather persuasive if he wanted to be. On the first day of _work_ however, he had blindly mistaken some sort of chemical for ingredients.  

It was not his fault that the lady placed them side by side, with containers that looked exactly the same. The children were lucky that the kitchen lady was his food taster.

She was on the floor foaming for a minute before her assistant (a random staff) grew a brain to call for an ambulance. He was kicked out of the kitchen ever since. He was forced to look at walls for at least three days when others gazed at him with suspicion in their eyes; like his plan was to supposedly poison the kitchen lady. If he did want to poison someone, it would not be the one whom cooks for them. They had to live off canned food for a week before a new kitchen lady was hired – the previous one quitted after ranting about _demonic child_  and eating homemade food forever. 

The next plan he had formed was to help out with things that do not need consuming; such as cleaning. What could go wrong with cleaning? He had done that when he was but a child whilst under the _care_ of his relatives. This made him make a mental note to kill the Dursleys after Duddikins was old enough to comprehend what torture was – might take a while since his intellect was lesser than a flobberworm’s, but Marcaunon was patient.

Back to cleaning; he messed up big time. He thought that most cleaning solution had always smelled foul. He couldn't be blamed since he did his chores with magic for decades. Much to the people living in the orphanage’s horror, he had somehow mistaken a flammable liquid as the cleaning solution. Again, it was in the exact same container and was side by side.

Just as he had finished with mopping the entire orphanage with said liquid, a group of passerbys flicked a still lit cigarette through one of the open windows just for kicks. They ran away the moment they saw flames consuming the floors at a rapid rate.

Whilst he was whistling and thinking about how dragon blood was an effective oven cleaner, the other children and adults were screaming their heads off with fear. 

The fire brigade soon got an unknown call – he assumed from the guilty party – and hurried over to the orphanage, which was halfway covered with burning flames. They managed to tame the fire and put it out, but a toddler was unlucky enough to have gotten locked inside one of the many rooms and suffered from second degree burns.

Mrs. Cole found out the reason soon after one of the fire brigade pointed out that the floors were covered with high flammable liquid called _alcohol_. As predicted, she blamed Marcaunon but the police wasn’t convinced and said it was irrational to blame such a young boy. Mrs. Cole threw a fit and locked him in the playroom for a week. The joy of wall watching, once again. He would bet a galleon that the alcohol was owned by the owner of said fit.

Once again, he had to think about the reason as to why a (giant) flask of alcohol – consumable – was next to another (giant) flask of cleaning solution – not consumable – inside a cleaning cupboard.

This made him continue his self-inflecting head hitting for an hour before resuming to glaring daggers in the same wall he had the _pleasure_ of viewing for months.

So for now, he would have to _enjoy_ the greying sight for a little longer before his brain could come up with yet another ingenious plan to pass the time, he needed his rest. He should remove all the plans that relates to helping or good will.

Who would have thought that the idiom _The Road to Hell is Paved with Good Intentions_ were indeed accurately true.

* * *

_April 1950_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

April fools. The most horrible day the Parasites made. Marcaunon could still remember being pranked by two devil redhead twins; their name had left his mind. He remembered that they were called the Weasel twins or something similar.  

He remembered when once upon a time, when his mind was clouded with only a _tiny_ bit of insanity, he made most of his so called _friends_ (insert sneer here) ran away shouting that he was a budding Dark Lord. It was just a prank for Merlin’s sake.

He had built a warehouse that was big enough to hold his pranking materials, and after a full day of building it from scratch – thank Merlin that magic made everything faster and easier – he started to paint the outer walls a beautiful shade of emerald green, whilst the roof was a dark brown. It looked somewhat like a treehouse on land.

He took a few days off from work the very next day to complete his ultimate prank. He killed some animals – he apologized whole heartedly before stabbing them – and drained them dry by hanging them from a ceiling, with a bucket that was covered with preservation charm below. There was of course some spells to make the blood drain faster, but he was busy with other things.

He made sure that all the materials needed to build a few golems were indeed present before he started. It took him roughly ten hours to make the golems, before he retired for the night. 

The next day, he colored the golems and molded their expression to one of horror. Some were missing a few limbs, and some had holes and slashes. He then tipped a few buckets of animal blood all over the stone hard floor and placed a preservation charm all over it.

Slowly, he began moving and positioning the golems so that they were laid broken, hanging down the ceiling, or chained to the walls. Overall, it looked like a perfect torture chamber with dead prisoners in it.

It took much longer to slowly make the golem’s wound look real while applying animal blood splotches over the _body_. Seeing that everything was in position, he then started to pour some sort of liquid that makes the whole warehouse smell like rotten meat and human waste. He surrounded the whole building with preservation charms once more before he made his exit. He had other things to bring.

The following day found Harry in Knockturn Alley’s potion shop. He was searching for some parts needed for his prank, and this place surely had some. He spent an hour or so as he slowly picked all the necessary ingredients.

Afterwards, he went back to his warehouse and started to throw the ingredients at random. It was time for his prank to commence, and just on time as well; 1st April!

He called his _(ex)_ friends over and they all stood outside the warehouse. Some of them were excited since he told them that he found this warehouse full of ancient things inside. The group consists of a family of redheads, bar their parents, a bushy haired woman, a dark haired man and another few that he couldn’t remember. It did happen quite long ago.

As he opened the double doors, he heard a sharp gasp from behind him but didn’t turn around. The inside of said warehouse was full of mingled corpses, the walls and floor painted with blood and viscera, animal and human carcass hanging from the ceiling; still dripping blood ever so often into a bucket. The only spine-shivering thing was that the corpses had a look of horror on their very familiar faces.

Harry had then turned around to shout ‘ _April’s Fool!_ ’ but what he saw made him frown in confusion. The group was pale and some even looked ill. They each looked at their wives/husband’s carved faces onto the corpses’, said corpses (golems) mouth opened for a silent scream whilst each eyes were reflected with horror and fear.

Without another word, a few of them retched and dry heaved (some of them even vomited) at the smell and sight that was presented to them. The youngest red head rushed inside, afraid that her husband was tortured, and after reaching noticed that the bodies only looked life like. They were fake.

They had all fled the very next second, leaving a bewildered Savior behind, his shoes covered with bile and undigested food. The next day, they had flooed over to his home and demanded an explanation; which he answered with ‘ _It was my April’s Fool prank’_. That made them screech and shout at him, calling him an insane psychopath before retreating.

He had felt hurt and betrayed over their false accusation and actions, and was depressed for a week before they came back and asked for his forgiveness. He was blind and didn’t notice that they had an obvious fake smile plastered on their faces. If he had looked for it, he would have seen the disgust, hatred, fury, fear, and terror reflecting in their eyes. Alas he didn’t, and he had paid the price for it in the future.

He shook his head to disperse the memory and threw a life-like looking cockroach towards a seven year old girl; it landed right into her hair. She cried in terror as she thought it was real and rolled around the floor like a lunatic. He gave a mirthful chuckle – he denied that it came out as a demented giggle – as he looked at the scene playing in front of him; children screaming and trying to help her whilst the staff edge away from said girl, afraid of touching such a disgusting bug that was in her hair.

Perhaps he could come to love April’s Fool day, after all pranking always made him gleeful. He was the son of a Marauder first and foremost. 

* * *

 

_January 1951_

_Location: Seaside somewhere in London_

The staffs had decided that they would take the children out on a trip to the seaside since it was New Year’s. The children were excited and were told to pack some spare clothing for swimming. For once, Marcaunon was glad that he was allowed to follow.

After a certain massacre, Mrs. Cole had forbidden him to accompany them to trips. This would usually make him happy, but after four long years of house arrest; he deserved to breathe in fresh air once more.

The reason as to why the Head Matron allowed him was because the staff had ganked up on her in telling that she was being unfair; he wasn’t even allowed outside in the backyard. They had forgotten all about their feelings of wrongness when they were near to him, his innocence shining.

He didn’t mind.

_OOOO_

A tall cloaked figure with his hood up stood in the middle of an empty beach, his unwavering gaze was intent on the waters as he was lost in memories.

The figure was soon forced into focus as the sound of children noises that people call laughter, started to increase. He had a feeling that they were nearing him. He moved behind a boulder and saw something that made him sneer.

Grey familiar uniforms followed by familiar matrons made him show his disgust underneath his shadowed hood. Just as he was about to leave, he felt a magical presence; it made him pause and observed the children once more.

The signature was familiar.

His eyes focused on a dark haired child wearing hideous round rose-tinted glasses with a butterfly resting atop the frame. The child looked to be around seven, his petite frame was drowned by the bigger children near – but still giving him a wide berth – him. The boy – though looking quite gender confusing – looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen those features before. The child was holding what looked to be a stuffed toy white snake and the hooded figure hid an awkward smile - an expression that showed that he was a person that had never smiled honestly in a long time. 

He remembered owning such a toy once upon a time.

The child was soon grabbed by the Head Matron and dragged reluctantly towards the boulder he was hiding behind. He already had a habit of surpassing his magic so he was not worried about being sensed.

Both woman and child soon stopped just near enough for the wizard to make out their facial expression, but he was unable to eavesdrop. He spotted a growing hand-shaped bruise just as the woman let the child’s arm go. The boy idly glanced at the bruise before returning his attention to the matron.

The woman’s mouth started to move at a rapid pace, and he saw the boy’s mouth curl into a sneer. Just as suddenly, the woman brought her hand up as if to slap the boy, but hesitated and brought the wayward appendage to her side.

“Admit it!” He heard her scream.

They both _talked_ a bit more before the Matron glared at the boy and walk off.

The boy stood in silence, his back rim-rod straight and his face showing no emotion. The silence was prolonged and the only background noise you could hear were the sound of waves crashing onto the shore.

Soon the boy trembled. He thought that the boy would start to cry but one look at the boy’s face said otherwise. The child was trembling with barely contained fury.

After a few minutes of deep breathing, the child calmed down and turned to stare at the vast sea in awe. Like it was the first time he had seen the ocean – much to his amused understanding.

He couldn’t quite shake the feeling of familiarity. Was this child’s parent one of his former schoolmates? After observing the child’s face once again, he turned around and made his way towards a nearby cave; he had work to be done.

If he had stayed for another second, he would have seen the full front of the boy’s face. He would then never leave the child alone. _Ever_. 

_OOOO_

Marcaunon stared at the vast ocean in awe, he had long to see such a sight; the deep blue ocean, with strong drifting waves that push the tiny little cargo ships. He remembered the sandy wasteland and dark green clouds back then, and was quick to take his spectacles off; not minding the disturbance he caused for his companion.  His rose-tainted view was soon replaced by beautiful blue and wondrous yellow.

It was the color of happiness, of _magic_.

He felt the breeze push his hair out of his face and smiled at the cool feeling of his slightly redden cheeks.

His mind cleared whilst he focused on the breath taking sight once more, implanting the image into his memories forever, and perhaps he could recreate it in a form of a mural.

It was amazing. A far cry from the wasteland he called his own world. It was like comparing a basilisk to a flobberworm.

His previous frustrations were erased and he relaxed completely, for once he could break away from prying eyes and let his tears flow freely down his cheeks. He could taste his own salty tears and chocked on a sob.

It truly was a beautiful sight to behold.

* * *

_November 1952_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

**_[Warning: Torture, skip if you must]_ **

Today was the anniversary of Araminta Meliflua’s Muggle-hunting proposal, and Marcaunon announced to Death that it was an important event that was meant for celebration. Although the Ministry had turned down her idea with their explanation of ‘ _breaching of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy_ ’ and considered inhumane – he thought they were just unable to hold their stomachs – in their eyes, Marcaunon wanted to have at least a day to continue his Parasite killings. Why not honor her whilst doing what he enjoyed doing back then?

Killing two hornbills with one spear, as others would say.

After receiving his weapons – although slightly smaller due to his age – from Death, he sneaked out in the middle of the night after donning on his black cloak with his hood shadowing him from sight. He stalked his way through the streets – as far from the orphanage as possible, searching for prey to have some fun with.

His hour long wait was rewarded with a small group walking towards him. It was a family of five; consist of a set of parents, two daughters and a son.

He licked his lips in excitement, and brought out his hand. Five red lights flew out from his palm and hit them straight on the chest. The family collapse as one and he nodded to himself.

He made his way towards the group and placed a stone on the ground. He shifted around until the Parasites all had one of their fingers touching the rock. A soft hissing filled the air and the group disappeared with a pop.

Marcaunon landed on his feet gracefully, not minding the bodies that fell limply on the ground. The rock was soon kicked into a dark corner and transfigured into an armchair. He sat on his newly made chair and crossed his legs.

The location he had chosen was special to him, and perhaps he would continue to use it if the results are great. The manor was enormous. The room – a guestroom – they were in was only dimly lit by a candle-filled chandelier, furnished only with a moderate sized bed and a nightstand. He had made sure to cut the electricity to prevent them from flicking the lights on beforehand.

Perhaps the only lighting they would have outside this room was the moonlight.

Coughing a few times to clear his throat, he casted Enervate on the group. As they began to stir, he put on his Cheshire grin and removed his eye-wear. His eyes glowed eerily in the dark and he made sure that they were slitted like that of a snake's.

“Ugh… What… What happened?” The son groaned as he held his head, as if he was having a migraine.

“Caine? Are you alright? Where are we?” The youngest daughter asked as she scooted closer to her brother.

“Is everyone here…?” Father dearest commanded as they all stood up, supporting one another. How sweet.

“Yeah…”

The family soon started looking around and finally, their eyes landed on him. He was partially hidden by the shadows and he knew that they could only see his whitened teeth and glowing eyes.

“Will you play a game with me?” His made his voice as innocent as possible.

“Who are you?” The father demanded.

“Will you?”

The group shifted uncomfortably.

“W-what sort of g-game?” The younger daughter stuttered.

So the bravest is the daughter? Who would have thought.

“A survival game.”

Parasite hunting was his joy, and it would be boring if they were to sit still and wait for their deaths. This was one of the reasons as to why Marcaunon usually offered them a _chance_ of freedom. Hope was a great way to motivate people. 

“If you survive for seven hours, you may walk out of this place alive.”

“Don’t joke around, boy! I’ll call the bloody police!” The father roared in anger. His face was dark purple as he moved threateningly towards Marcaunon. He reminded Marcaunon of Uncle Vernon. What an unpleasant man. 

Father was rewarded with a tsk and a magical binding. He howled in pain as the invisible binds squeezed him, bruising at least a few ribs in the process.

“There are no rules. You may aim to kill or disable me. You can choose to split up or stay together. You will of course try to survive. Any questions?”

The family were frantically trying to find what was wrong with their father/husband. Marcaunon’s grin stretched wider, if that was even possible, and released the man from his bind.

“Wi-will we really g-get out if we s-survive for s-s-seven hours?” The wife asked.

“I am a man of my words.”

“W-why seven?”

“It’s a powerful number.”

The family looked at each other with terrified eyes.

“Before we can play, we should get to know one another, so please tell me your names.”

“What!? Why? I won’t–“

The father was interrupted when a vase exploded, showering the family with cuts. It was a warning.

"Dear! Please stop antagonizing him!" Mother cried as she turned to her husband in fear. Smart woman. 

“Ah… I-uhm.. My name is Caitlin.” The elder daughter said in fright.

“C-c-cailyn.” The younger sobbed. She looked as if she would wet herself at any given moment.

“Caine.” The son stated with confidence.

Marcaunon stared him in the eye and read his outer most thoughts; which was beyond amusing. He was confident that they could overpower a child.

“Calandra.” The mother said with tears trailing down her blotched cheeks.

“Cadmus.” Lastly, the father grunted out. He was obviously in pain, judging by the way he was holding his sides.

With their names, Marcaunon would have thought that they were Purebloods. Or perhaps an offspring of a squib. He scrutinized them once again to be sure that they had no magical core. It would do no good to hunt Magicals, no matter if they could control their magic or not.

What most Purebloods forget is that Squibs still have a core. Their pathways are just blocked, thus leading them unable to perform Magic.  

“Pleasure to meet your acquaintances. My name is Marcaunon Gaunt. I’m sure we’ll be _great_ playmates.” He smiled cruelly.

The son kept thinking him crazy and that made Caine into the first to die list for tonight.

“Now… I’ll give you four hundred and twenty seconds of head start. Let’s begin!”

None of them moved.

“One… Two… Three… Four… Five…”

They all ran out the door as if their lives depended on it. Well, it actually did.

Marcaunon grinned dementedly as he counted. What sort of method should he kill them using? He didn’t want them to have a quick and painless death. Parasites don’t deserve an AK to the head. Perhaps he could kill them without the aid of magic? Crucios gets tiring once you used them for so long.

He decided that for this particular day and activity, he would refrain from using any type of offensive magic and only use muggle-means. He made a mental note to start a Muggle-Hunting-Gaunt-Family-Tradition. His future son would definitely enjoy it. This would be a good father and son bonding experience. Better than fishing at least.

“Seven minutes has past, ready or not… Here I come.” His demented cackling could be heard all throughout the manor (sonorous was a blessing), making the family members shiver at the sound.

He hummed and sauntered out of the room, into the hallway. Left or right…? Marcaunon’s eyes took in all the details, before he focused on a piece of hair on the floor. Right it is.

The padding of feet could be heard echoing throughout the corridor as he walked none too gently - it was more fun with dramatic effects and sounds. A few minutes passed by with nothing in sight and Marcaunon grew bored. Just as he was about to give up and use a spell to locate his victims, he heard a gasp from his right.

He didn’t stop or show that he took notice. He only made his way over. He entered a theatre, much to his revelation. He never once noticed that this manor had a bloody theatre, and by the looks of it, for opera.

The ceilings were high and had a few crystal chandeliers hanging from above, the walls were a dark shade of gold, with red curtains and seats. The room had three levels! Three bloody levels! Marcaunon ignored the stage in favor of staring in horror at the rows of seats littered everywhere. It would take a while to find anybody in this room…

He knew that the father, Cadmus, would insist that his family stay together. If he found one, he would find all. That would be boring so he’ll just drag them one by one until they get the idea that staying together was counterproductive, if they are smart enough of course. Merlin knew Parasites have maggots for brains. 

Suddenly, he remembered something and grinned dementedly.

Marcaunon took a deep breath and let out a high pitched whistle. The sound echoed. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He continued to whistle and walk. He remembered mastering this technique when his eyes were melted and he was in a facility building that absorbed magic. If he wanted to move around freely, he would have to use echolocation to see.

Slowly he begin heading towards the second level. He _saw_ a few things moving restlessly and made sure that no sound could be heard from his feet.

As he opened his eyes, he spotted the party of five huddling behind one of the curtains. This was ridiculously easy. He inwardly sighed at their incompetence and wondered if they were abysmal in Hide and Seek. 

With a flick of his wrist, the curtain moved to the corner sharply and the ladies screamed in surprise. Father and son both stood bravely in front of the girls and they had a grim frown on their face, eyes filled with determination.

He raised a perfectly shaped brow at them.

“As much as it pains me to say so, the hiders would usually split up. Finding all in one swoop isn’t as pleasing as you would think it is.”

They didn’t reply. Father – he had already forgotten their names, darn – had a wooden rod in his hands. Seeing that one of the chairs was missing a leg, he’s guilty.

“Any closer and I’ll bash your head in, boy!”

Marcaunon didn’t deem to give him any reply. He raised his left hand – just for dramatics – and closed it into a fist. He blew out a puff of air and grinned at them whilst tilting his head. The fist was then pulled towards his chest and Son was hauled to him like a puppet on strings.

Daughter Two latched onto her brother but it did no good. Marcaunon raised his other hand and flicked it, just as he would a fly, making the others fall to the ground.

Whilst they were disorientated, he was quick to disapparated to his favorite room in the manor. The dungeons.

Son’s face was contorted in a grimace, still dizzy from the trip. He used this time to magically hang the teen. His wrists were chained to the ceiling and his toes were just grazing the floor.

“Hello there.”

That seemed to snap the teen out of his daze and he glared at Marcaunon balefully.

“Let me the fuck down!”

Marcaunon tutted.

“Do you remember my name?”

“And why the fuck should I remember the name of a snot nosed shite like you?” Son sneered haughtily.

“Wrong answer. It’s Marcaunon!” He sing-song childishly.

A snap could be heard echoing before a scream followed closely behind. One finger broken.

“For every wrong answer, some things will break… or be ripped away!”

“Ha.. haa.. Y-you’re… fuckin’ sick…” Brother grunted as sweat started to form on his forehead.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, how old am I?”

“S-seven..”

“Hmmm… Seven is a brilliant number I must admit…” Brother sighed in relief. “But no, I’m eight. Well, technically I'm older than my psychical appearance, but since it's impossible to guess my age based on my mentality, I'm eight.”

The teen’s face changed into horror and an apology was on the tip of his tongue before two of his fingers broke. He screeched before gritting his teeth.

“Y-y-you said… you’ll… haa.. break… one of … my bones.”

“Oh you misunderstood. I said that if you answered wrongly, your bones will break. I didn’t really specify the number of bones.”

“Fuck…”

“Language. Teenagers these days! What time do you think it is?”

“Night time.”

“I would take points for cheekiness, but I guess that answer is alright…” Marcaunon hummed as he observed his captive. The teen was panting and using his tippie toes to hold most of his weight. Pain would make his mind unable to focus… So we can’t have that can we.

“What does Voldemort mean in English?”

“Is… Is that French?”

“Indeed it is. Oh and I forgot to say you have only ten seconds to answer.”

“What!? Uhm… ugh… I-..”

With a snap of his fingers, Son's toes were broken and he screamed as he tried to pull his weight up with his wrist.

“Time’s up! It means Flight of Death… but can also mean Theft by Death as well. That was a two answer question! You could’ve saved yourself from harm if you said either one.”

Marcaunon’s only reply was panting.

“Burdensome Jailer Dog is an anagram of someone’s name. Tell me whose!”

“Err… Julian… haa… Ru–“

All of Brother’s ribs were snapped into two and it took a few minutes for him to stop screaming bloody murder. Marcaunon giggled.

“Doleres Jane Umbridge. She’s a bitch who loves pink too much. I’ll be sure to paint her body red; it’s a much better color. Anyway, what does emasculate mean?”

“R-remov-val of.. the… ugh… balls?”

“Correct!” Brother’s shoulder relaxed. “But not entirely!” he chirped.

With that, Brother’s manhood was ripped brutally apart. The screams bouncing on the walls were music to Marcaunon’s ears.

_OOOO_

Humming could be heard as Marcaunon made his way to the dining room. His arms were covered in blood, but he paid it no mind, loving the feel of watery stickiness on his fingers. He wasted an hour playing Q & A. The answers that Brother said were sometimes cute, but not enough for Marcaunon to grant him release. They had played until the teen had bled to death.

Father would have to be last sadly. Mostly, the women would lose their will to live if they do not have a strong figure to lead them. Of course not all, but those three were in the first category. He had seen how a determined pregnant soon-to-be mother had fight till her last dying breath, even after her husband had abandoned her and ran with his tails in between his knees. He could respect that, but not enough since she wass still a Parasite. They bred enough.

This place had too bloody many bed rooms to count and remember. Marcaunon whistled a few times as he moved along the corridors.

Suddenly, he facepalmed himself. How could he see through the doors with only whistling!? Damn him for getting distracted. He shook his head and concentrated on finding the Parasites. Better make a move on before the night’s over.

A few minutes of silence before he heard the sound of hands rubbing against one another. His face turned slowly towards the direction of the sound and saw a sofa just to his left. He dropped to his knees and hands. His head was tilted to the side, wondering how he had not noticed the human shaped shadow that was painfully hard to miss.

He crawled slowly towards the chair and finally peeked at the side. He came face to face with a petrified face.

“Hello.” Marcaunon said softly, as if to not scare her – which failed miserably since she looked as if to faint at any moment. He knew he was an intimidated sight to see, with him crawling towards the girl on his hands and knees, like something akin to Parasite ghosts. “Don’t be frightened… I won’t kill you… yet.”

“AAAHHHH! MUMMY DADDY! HEL–“

A silencing charm was casted at Daughter One to cut her screaming, and he clasps the ankle that was in front of him. He used his magic to strengthen his limbs as he avoided her free leg that kicked at him. He dragged her across the room and headed towards the dungeon.

“Off to the dungeons we go!”

_OOOO_

“I can’t take it any longer… thought that we were stronger! All we do is linger slipping through our fingers… I don’t wanna try now! All that’s left’s goodbye to find a way that… I… can… tell… you…” The last part of Marcaunon’s singing was said softly as he saw Mother stiffening at his appearance when he turned the corner.

“I hate this part right here… I just can’t take your tears… I hate this part right here…”

The moment was broken when he continued to sing and Mother made a dash towards the other side of the door. Before she could get far, Marcaunon jumped and rugby tackled her to the floor. Her white flowery pattern dress was soon turned crimson with all the blood he had accumulated on his body.

“Please! You don’t want to do this. What would your mother think?” She tried as she struggled to get away from his enhanced strength.

“The dead don’t speak… or think.”

He silenced and turned her so that her back was to the ground. A sticking charm was placed on her wrists and he forced them above her head. Not wanting her to try and kick him, he straddled her waist and licked his lips at the sight.

She was indeed a beauty, with beautiful doe-like blue eyes and blonde hair. Too bad he despised being intimate with someone, even if it’s raping them. And his body was eight for Morgana’s sake!

“The dungeons would ruin your beauty… we’ll just have to make due here.”

His only answer was a silent scream.

_OOOO_

Three down, two to go. Now that’s left is Father and Daughter the Second. He’ll  just have to see whom he would cross first.

A full body mirror was in front of Marcaunon, and he tilted his head at how delicious he looked. With his hair that was matted with blood, pale face in contrast to the crimson red mess that was on his cheeks, blood splotches on his clothing, and arms fully covered with unidentified pieces of meat.

He flicked both hands and the meat flew across the floor. Giggling at the mess he made, he continued stalking down the halls.

“Come out come out wherever you are…”

“HAA!!” A male’s voice alerted him from behind and he turned too late.

His head was bashed by some kind of pole and he was knocked to the floor. Father wasn’t discourage and continued to hit his limp body.

After a few more minutes of feeling his bones breaking, organs rupturing and skull cracking, the man stopped. Not at all bothered by the damage done by Father, his upper body sat upright and he gave a demented grin at the startled man.

Father was foolish enough to drop his weapon and took a step back. Seeing a chance, Marcaunon jumped onto the man and bind the gorilla with his magic. One has to wonder how someone so obese could be with Mother – a beauty.

“That kind of hurts… Like when you scrape your knee.”

“M-m-m-m-mmmonster! Get off me! Get off you devil child!”

“Tsk! Rude. Just like your son.”

The man stopped struggling and glared at Marcaunon with fury in his brown eyes.

“What have you done to Caine!?”

“He’s with Daughter the First, hanging at the dungeon.” Pun fully intended!

“How dare you kill my children! I’ll fucking murder you once I get free!”

“The same dirty mouth as your son, I see. No wonder that boy kept on cursing. You’re a bad parent.”

Marcaunon used his fingers to pry Father’s mouth open, and forced his free hand into the wet cavern. With his grip fully on the tongue, he pulled with all his magic induced strength.

“Punishment for teaching children how to swear, Mr. Cadmus.”

_OOOO_

“Tempus.”

Marcaunon chuckled when he saw that he was only left with a minute left. Hope was a beautiful thing to shatter.

“Point me… What was her name again… Ah yes! Point me Cailyn.”

The wand on his hand swirled around before settling to his left. Carefully, he followed his beloved Elder Wand and was unable to hold a grin back when he saw her waiting at the main entrance of the Manor, looking at her watch with anticipation, hope and desperation.

“Come on… Come on!” She whispered softly to herself as she paced quietly.

Just as a few seconds was left, he apparated in front of her with a loud crack. She screamed in fright and turned frantically towards her wrist watch. One second more and she would have escaped!

“Too bad, isn’t it… Miss Cailyn. A second more and you would be home free.”

“Please… Make an exception?” Her eyes were wide open as she tilted his mouth to form an adorable pout. 

“I’ll think about it.”

“W-where’s my family?” She backed from his slowly, hoping to distract him from noticing her approach to the door. She failed.

“Son and Daughter the First are currently hanging at the dungeons. Mother’s in the kitchen. Father’s near the basement.”

She choked a sob.

“D-dead?”

“Don’t worry… You’ll join them soon enough.”

With that, they were both engulfed in black flames.

_OOOO_

Marcaunon felt as if he was in cloud nine whilst he made his way back to the orphanage. His cloak was covered in blood and gore, and he basks in the feeling of it. He had always had a fascination with blood; ever since his town was turned into a bloodied battle field painted in red.

He grinned as he reached the gates of his current accommodation. A group of teenagers that were making their way towards the gate hadn’t noticed his presence and continued their discussion about homework and projects to be done later at school.

They were wearing the typical uniforms that indicate their school, carrying books and bags. One of the boys gave a sudden stop and paled when he spotted Marcaunon. The rest followed his gaze and one of them even fainted when they caught the metallic tang of blood and flesh.

Marcaunon gave them an upward tilt of his lips as he brushed past them. Just as he entered the orphanage, he heard their screams when they realized the mess he had left on their clothes.

He chuckled at their dramatics and made his way to his room. Time for a warm bath.

**_[Warning: End]_ **

* * *

_March 1953_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

Contrary to what the children believed, Marcaunon does not torture poor little animals that stroll into the orphanage doors. He was not a monster to these loveable creatures.

He looked up from the newspaper in his hands when he felt an unfamiliar warmth against his ankle. Whilst he sat in his corner with his legs crossed, a stray puppy had lay down near his feet. He almost wanted to coo at the cute ball of fur right there and then, but resisted as he had an image to uphold.

The other residences of Wool’s were giving pitying looks at the oblivious puppy, much to Marcaunon’s amusement. He discarded the papers aside to bend forwards and place the puppy on his lap for petting.

It gave a yap of surprise but otherwise remained still.

He sighed in momentary contentment and blissfully thought; _animals are so much better than humans._

* * *

_December 1954_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

Have you ever experience Love at First Sight? Yes? Then you my dear _friends_ have been dropped by your caretakers when you were but a babe. A pity.

As many orphans came to know, Marcaunon was a beautiful specimen to the human race. His aristocratic structured face, those silky black yet messy nest he called hair, the pinkish kissable lips that could make anyone’s heart race with just a small tilt of it, and not forgetting those devilish scarlet eyes surrounded by long thick lashes behind his – very ugly, not that the orphans would say that out loud – round rose tinted glasses. His body was petite and thin yet not overly so to mistaken him for a girl, but it would take a moment of time to distinguish his gender from appearance alone. He always had a butterfly or two on his shoulders, spectacle or within his crown, and they definitely enhanced his beauty - like Parasite-made fairy fantasies. When he spoke, his voice alone could silence a room full of snot-nosed orphan children; it was too bad that they never heard him laughing whole-heartedly before. His posture was perfect and if one were to put a stack of books atop his head, it would stay perfectly still whilst he walked.

Most girls thought him to be the perfect fairytale knight, whilst guys imagine him to be a damsel in distress – or a person to bully – due to his somewhat fragile appearance. Those were the opinions of _outsiders_ that have never come into contact with him for a prolong amount of time. The orphans and staff knew the real him, the dangerous young man – for he could not be mistaken as just a _boy_ – that hid behind those angelic outer features.

Whilst Marcaunon was ten, there was a new arrival. The teenage boys had hearts in their eyes whilst the little girls announced this arrival as their new idol and role model. Her name was Amanda Wakefield. She was a natural redhead with long wavy hair that reached her lower back, and bangs that cover her forehead. Her face structure covered for her somewhat dull brown eyes and lesser eyelashes. She was tall and her assets were in the process of maturing, much to the hormone filled orphaned boys’ delight.

Amanda was 13, and she fell in love with a boy three years younger than her.

Whilst this girl was busy making friends with both older and younger children, Marcaunon was locked in his room by Mr. Smith; his probation officer that had wrongly accused Marcaunon of killing the orphanage’s pet snake that was brought by Martha for the younger kids to _ogle_. Insert snort here.

He was insulted that that man would ever think he would kill his own Family and House mascot. Mr. Smith didn’t hear his reasons and stated that he could do it in the night when others were sleeping. Marcaunon gave a list of reasons as to why his reasoning was faulty. His reward was being tossed inside his room. This was his last day of wall-watching and he was filled with a week’s worth of energy to burn off.  His room was too small to pace around, much less to exercise.

He heard his guard’s footsteps even before the door clicked open, and was dragged towards the dining hall. His guard left after placing a bowl of grey matter on his table, much to his relief. He hated Parasites touching – dragging – him like a life size Marcaunon Doll.

The somewhat edible substance that they called food was unappealing and he still bemoans the fact that the newer kitchen lady had a terrible way of making porridge. Even he knew that porridge was not supposed to be hard.

“Hi!” A cheerful voice greeted from in front of him. It was overly cheerful and his porridge suddenly felt too sweet for his taste.

As always, he ignored the children whom were brave – stupid – enough to even consider talking to him. The lesser species seemed to not understand that she was being ignored and cleared her throat rather loudly.

“Hello!” She greeted once more, with much more enthusiasm as she sat down.

He continued to eat for the sake of it. He would have to tell his servant to bring him some edible food; perhaps Chinese. He suddenly had a craving for–

“Heyy! I know that you’re hungry, but a lady is talking to you.” She interrupted his thoughts that were much more important than her.

Marcaunon placed his spoon down and wiped his mouth with a piece of tissue elegantly, and as if to prolong the inevitable; he drinks a cup of water as well.

The girl waited patiently – whilst meanwhile drumming her fingers against the table _impatiently_ –  for him to finish before she spoke.

“So… Who are you?”

“It’s only proper to introduce yourself first before asking.”

She waved it off.

“We’re still children. Don’t mind don’t mind. Now who’re you?”

“If you so wish to not introduce yourself, you might as well not ask.”

“Ughh fine! You should relax more. Name’s Amanda Wakefield. I’m 13 and just arrived a week ago. I didn’t see you around… Are you new as well? We could explore this place together.”

He sighed under his breath before glancing at the teen – that was forcing her lips into a pout-gone-wrong that he almost grimaced – and replying with serenest.

“A _pleasure_ , I’m sure.”

“Well?” The girl, Wakefield, demanded impatiently.

Marcaunon was not amused.

“Pardon?”

“I already introduced myself, now it’s your turn. And I asked you if you are also new.” She stated snottily.

He resisted the urge to sneer at her and droned out in a somewhat polite manner.

“I have been here my whole life and you may call me Gaunt.”

“Gaunt? That’s your name?”

“Family name.”

“What’s your name?”

“You may call me Guant.”

“The name your parents gave!” She snapped whilst he hid his amusement by taking a sip from his cup.

“I wouldn’t know if my given name was truly the name my parents have given me.”

“Then tell me your given name!”

“Given by whom exactly?”

“Stop it! Just tell me your name already!” He could tell that she was on the verge of physically demanding answers from him, if the fists that were clenched are any indication.

“If you insist.”

“Yes I do!”

“Marcaunon.”

“Wha? What does that mean?”

“My name of course.”

She let out a huff of air before composing herself and smiled sweetly whilst batting her – non existing – lashes at him.

“Uhm… Will you show me around the orphanage, Marc?”

“I’m sure you have had enough opportunities to explore, this building could never be considered a labyrinth. And I have not given you the permission to call me by my name, much less a petname.” He drawled.

She looked confused at some of his words, but ignored it in favor of acting cute. 

“I –I’m not really good with um... directions! And don’t be so stiff, it’s only a name!”

“Then perhaps you are in need of a map and not a tour guide.” He smiled politely before he got up and left a sighing teen behind.

He had assumed that she would leave him alone after that _conversation_. He was of course, dead wrong. He was sure that the orphanage was cursed to always prove him incorrect.

Wakefield would pop up at unexpected places each day, and babble at him like your average typical teenage girl. She gossiped and tried to start a conversation with him. All was shot down by a typical one respond answer such as….

“Hey Mar– Gaunt. Uhm, have you … err do you like anybody?”

“No.”

“Really? Are you sure.. I mean, I won’t tell anyone.”

“No.”

Or…

“Do you like books? I always see one with you everywhere.”

“Yess.”

“Uhm.. What sort of books do you like?”

“Any.”

“Oh.. Err.. Ok…”

Or…

“Why don’t you want to be called by your given name?”

A shrug.

“Then is it ok if I –“ she winked but he interrupted.

“No.”

And conversation closed.

She was persistent and it was driving him up his watching wall. He had no such clue as to why she would want to waste his time by talking to him. He could be doing a much more productive things such as wall-watching _without_ interference.

He could tolerate her presence fairly enough, but he reached his limit when she decided to drop into his safe haven (room) without an invitation.

She had the nerve to picklock his door - where in Morgana’s saggy tits did she learn that – and strode in like she owned the place. He had gotten up from his bed and told her as politely as humanely possible to get the fuck out. But of course she played dumb – or perhaps she was indeed dumb – and sat on his bed to continue her useless babbling.

His rage meter reached the top and burst into shards, leading to his door slamming shut on its own accord. She shouted in fright and went to hug his arm, which was a bad move on her part. He locked the door with a twitch of his finger and grabbed her by her neck.

She started to struggle but he made her limp with his magic.

“I have had enough of your fantasies. I am not your knight in shining armor. I am not someone you could demand things from. I am not a patient person, and tolerated you just because you were new and curious. You have now made your presence _most_ unbearable for me and I could literally feel all my intelligence draining away with every action and word you utter. Be honored that I will be the one to end your pitiful existence.” He hissed out, his Parseltongue accent was notable when he was furious.

He had spent most of his life speaking in the noble tongue of serpents, even before his time in the orphanage. This made him have a somewhat hissing accent that could be considered quite erotic if you were not looking into his enraged eyes. 

He casted a few wards in place before letting her neck go. She was unable to move or form coherent words other than a few wrecked sobs.

Marcaunon took his spectacles off his face and brought out a dagger from underneath his pillow. Just as he leaned closer, his glamours dropped, showing his scarred features and marred skin that were not covered by cloth.

“Shall we begin?” He asked innocently with a cruel smile playing on his lips.

Wakefield screamed, but it went unheard by the other residence of Wool’s Orphanage.

_OOOO_

The next day found Marcaunon in the playroom, reading through the newspaper when he caught sight of an article that made him chuckle under his breath. It indicated that the police had found a teenage girl, kept barely alive whilst her assaulter brutally cut her open and plucked her organs one after another. Her innards was placed in the middle of a symbol and drawn in her blood. The police were mystified as to why she was still alive after they found her, but soon she died on her way to the hospital.

Clergymen were persistently telling the police that this was the work of a demon, since his symbol was drawn beside the teenage girl’s body. The officers ignored them and stated that the culprit was the same as another similar case called Cult Ritual. The symbol was indeed identical and was not shown on the news back then. They promised the people that the culprit will be brought to justice soon.

Marcaunon laughed dementedly outright after he had finished reading said article. This made the orphans scatter away and flee from the room he was in. They knew who was last spotted with Amanda Wakefield and they will never reveal anything to the police, lest they find their limbs scattered across the country. They had also learnt to inform newly orphans that Marcaunon was off limits if they didn’t want to be buried six feet under. 

* * *

_**July 1955**_

_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
Headmaster: Armando Dippet_

_Dear Mr. Gaunt,_

 

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begin on 1 September. We await your owl no later than 31 July._

 

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_Deputy Headmaster  
Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc, Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards_

**-Second Page-**

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_UNIFORM_

_First-year students will require:_

  1. _Three sets of plain work robes (black)_
  2. _One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear_
  3. _One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_
  4. _One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)_



_Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags._

_COURSE BOOKS_

_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)  
By Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic  
By Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory  
By Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration  
By Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Hurbs and Fungi  
By Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions  
By Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them  
By Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection  
By Quentin Trimble_

_OTHER EQUIPMENT_

_1 wand_  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set of glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set of brass scales

_Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS  
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK_

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus  
Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions_

_OOOO_

An old man with greying long beard, floppy hat, orange colored suit and unicorn patterned tie stood outside the high gates of Wool’s Orphanage yet again.

_Same orphanage, check._

He looked at the letter in his hand, ignored the forbidding feeling of dread, and proceeded to walk towards the familiar building that Tom Riddle once used to live at. He greeted Mrs. Cole with enthusiasm while she sputtered and gapped at him.

“Mr. Dumbesdoor! W-what? Tom doesn’t live here any longer.” She stuttered.

_Same head Matron, check._

“Dumbledore, and I’m actually here for Mr. Gaunt.” He said slowly, gouging the reaction from the woman.

She looked confused for a minute before paling. This did not bode well for Albus.

“Is something the matter?”

“No of course not. He has never had any visitors before… And I’ll have to assume that you are here for the same reason as Tom?”

“Correct!” Albus replied with a fake cheer whilst she led him towards the stairs. “Will you tell me about him?”

“Strange things often happen around him, very nasty things.”

_Same answer, check._

Before he could question more, she stopped in front of Tom’s room, much to Albus’s confusion. The confusion left soon after as she knocked and spoke.

_Same room, check._

“Marcaunon? You have a visitor.” She told the boy, the same words as she had said all those years ago. The boy’s name even made the professor’s heart race for unknown reasons.

“How are you, Marcaunon?” Albus greeted as he entered and closed the door.

The boy in question just stared at him flatly as he sat at the seat where Albus remembered little Tom sat once upon a time. He made himself comfortable on the bed and faced the child. He ignored the butterflies that were all over the room – and the boy himself; but at least they weren't dead or pinned up.

“You’re a doctor aren’t you?” He questioned.

Albus’s stomach performed some rather complicated acrobatics.

“No… I’m a professor.”

“I don’t believe you. Mrs. Cole wants me looked at. They think I’m… different.”

Albus wanted to retch but held it in.

“Well perhaps they’re right.” Dejavu.

“I’m not mad.” The boy announced forcefully.

“…Hogwarts is not a place for mad people. Hogwarts is a school, school of magic.”

The boy frowned, but just for a second before it disappeared.

_Same reaction, check._

“You can do things, can’t you Marcaunon?” Albus nodded once. “Things that other children can’t.”

The boy observed him. Perhaps to see if he was speaking the truth.

“I can make things move with just my thoughts. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who’re mean to me.” This time, Albus almost shat himself at the answers. “I can make them hurt… if I want. Who are you?”

_Same answers, check._

Albus gasped softly before he replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Well I’m like you. I’m… different.”

Albus begged to Circe that the boy won’t ask him to prove it.

“Prove it.” Merlin damn it… Was he a Tom Riddle doppelganger?

He made the very same wardrobe light up in flames, and the same reaction was followed to the T. The boy’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he looked towards the wardrobe in horror.

“I think there’s something in your wardrobe trying to get out, Marcaunon.” Don’t tell me he’s a thief as well!?

The boy stepped towards the wardrobe with caution and opened it, revealing a box that was eerily similar to the one Tom once possessed. The flames were extinguished and Albus moved to allow him to lay the items on the bed.

_Same bad habit, check._

Albus scanned the items and his heart began to run wild. They were the exact same items; a collection of yo-yos. Trophies.

“Thievery is not tolerated in Hogwarts, Marcaunon. At Hogwarts you will not only be taught how to use magic, but how to control it. You understand me?”

“Of course, sir.”

Albus handed him the letter and explained to him how to get to Diagon Alley, the Platform and any other questions he had. It was starting to freak Albus out on how similar the boy was to Tom.  

_Same questions, check._

Albus fled the room with as much dignity as he can. At least he didn’t ask if wizards could talk to snakes!

After he made his way out of the orphanage, into an empty alleyway and apparated back home, he choked on the lemon drop he had just popped into his mouth and spat it out quickly. He now remembered why the boy looked so familiar.

He looked exactly like how Tom was when he was younger. This information made the soon-to-be-Headmaster faint right there and then.

_Same appearance, check._

* * *

_1 st Setember 1955_

_Location: King’s Cross Station_

The walk across King’s Cross Station towards Platform 9¾ was a long one. It made Marcaunon, whom had been stuck inside the orphanage building ever since his trip to the seaside, pant and sweat rather inelegantly.

He entered a restroom near 9¾ to regain his breathing, wipe his sweat and to fix his appearance. 

 **“ _Master's stamina is much to be desired.”_** Soft hisses could be heard from within the boy’s Hogwarts' Uniform. He ignored his servant for a little as he was busy trying – and failing – to tame his messy black hair.

He gave up and shrugged.

**_“I was confined by an imbecilic woman, remember?”_ **

**_“Indeed I do. Is Master… Happy?”_ **

**_“I am content.”_ **

The snake stopped its hissing at its Master’s satisfaction. Most people would miss it, but it knows its Master well.

Marcaunon left the restroom and made his way towards the ward-covered pillar. He leaned casually onto it and appeared on the other side. The boy scanned the crowds for any familiar faces but dismissed them for the Hogwarts Express.

The train looked as brilliant as it had been in his memories, albeit having lesser scratches.

It was one of the few things that the Parasites disposed of whilst the Wizarding world was still trying to negotiate a peace treaty. This magnificent piece of art was bombed, killing young wizards and witches along with it.

Marcaunon was saddened over the fact that the train was destroyed more than the lives that were lost. Years of prolong war exposure does that to people.

Before he could go sentimental over a train – of all things – he went onboard to search for an empty compartment. After finding one in the middle, he sat down; not bothering to un-shrink his trunk only to place it elsewhere. He would rather have it on his person.

Come to think of it…

**_“Are snakes even allowed at Hogwarts?”_ **

**_“They never did write anything about not being allowed to bring other pets other than the three listed.”_ **

**_“Hmm, true.”_ **

Marcaunon gave a small wave of his hand to place a locking and silencing charm on the door.

 ** _“Now that we won’t be interrupted…”_** He trailed off as he pulled out a book and opened the window partly for his little sinners to enter.

Death slithered off of him and onto the windowsill. It hissed in contentment, much to Marcaunon’s amusement. They both ignored the others that came knocking on the door and continued to do their own thing.

_OOOO_

After a peaceful train ride, Marcaunon walked a millimeter above the muddy ground; making it seem as though he was gliding rather than stomping through the muddy ground. He had learnt this little trick whilst he was trying to cross a field full of mine-bombs without his broom (it was destroyed when he crashed landed).

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years!” A familiar voice boomed and all the firsties turned towards the half-giant, the Mudbloods all looked at the tall half-human with a little fear, before they made their way to him.

“Four ta a boat!”

Whilst others wobbled onto their unsteady boats, his didn’t move when he boarded it; much to his boat-mates’ jealousy. They could suck on boogers for all he cared. They weren’t the one whom almost lost a leg due to some bombs. Not that it would be permanent, but the pain wasn’t worth it.

Marcaunon placed his fore and middle finger on the lake’s surface, not minding when the giant squid started to play with him – wrapping a tentacle around his wrist. The other first year Mudbloods and some Half-bloods stared in horror whilst the Purebloods hid it partially well.

Soon enough, they all arrived without a problem – except for one student falling into the lake – and Hagrid introduced Dumb-as-a-door. The old man smiled happily at the amount of Mudbloods attending the school this year.

Don’t get him wrong, he had no problems with Mudbloods – except for their parents being Parasites – but in the olden days, the word Mudblood was not used as an insult. It was like calling a species of a cat. All cats can’t just be cats can they? So of course they’re called differently. Burmese… Himalayan… Munchkin… Sphynx – he wished Death was one, that IS his favorite animal – but he digressed.

Bumblybare continued to babble the usual speech of sorting and etcetera. Marcaunon kind of tuned him out after seeing his wrinkly face.

 _A thousand years or more ago_  
_When I was newly sewn,_  
 _There lived four wizards of renown,_  
 _Whose names are still well known:_

 _Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_  
_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_  
 _Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_  
 _Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shares a wish, a hope, a dream,_   
_They hatched a daring plan_   
_To educate young sorcerers_   
_Thus Hogwarts School began._   
_Now each of these four founders_   
_Formed their own house, for each_   
_Did value different virtues_   
_In the one they had to teach._

_By Griffindor, the bravest were_  
_Prized far beyond the rest;_  
 _For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_  
 _Would always be the best;_

 _For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_  
_Most worthy of admission;_  
 _And power-hungry Slytherin_  
 _Loved those of great ambition_.

 _While still alive they did divide_  
_Their favorites from the throng,_  
 _Yet how to pick the worthy ones_  
 _When they were dead and gone?_

 _Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_  
_He whipped me off his head_  
 _The founders put some brains in me_  
 _So I could choose instead!_

 _Now slip me snug about your ears,_  
_I’ve never yet been wrong,_  
 _I’ll have a look inside your mind_  
 _And tell where you belong!_

Marcaunon snapped out of his daze when he heard the end of the sorting hat singing, and clapped politely along with the other students.

“Now when I call out your name, please come forward and sit on this stool.” Dumberdoor cheerfully stated as he began to call out the names in alphabetical order.

The scarlet eyed boy tuned out Doublebone’s voice yet again. He couldn’t help it. He loathes that man enough to freak said man out by imitating Tom Riddle’s posture, tone of voice, questions and reactions. Let’s not forget the items he had stolen just a day before Bumblyburp came, and he made sure that all were frighteningly similar.

“Gaunt, Marcaunon.” Said student focused back once his name was called and glided towards the stool. He noticed that there were … none of Voldemort’s followers’ children at the Slytherin table. How lucky!

He sat gracefully onto the stool, straight back and waited for the old man to place the sorting hat on his head, which he did a second later.

_‘Oh my. It is such an honour to be able to sort the Master of Death."_

He inwardly shrugged. It wasn't really that great of a title. The paperwork killed all the pros. 

_‘Judging by how you try to escape every time It brought documents for you to sign, I would imagine so. Well, shall we begin the sorting then?’_

_‘Take your time. I rather enjoy seeing Dumbles sweat.’_

_‘And he is very much sweating right now. Hmmm you used to be a Griffindor… You are indeed brave, but you would rather push a person in front of you to save your own skin; too much self-preservation for being a noble martyr.”_

_‘Yess… I admit that I would rather throw everyone into the sea than let the boat sink. It's human nature though.’_

_‘Your quote of Knowledge is Power definitely fits Ravenclaw. If you were to become Ravenclaw, your housemates would constantly be jealous of your vast collection of ancient knowledge.’_

_‘Because I’ve lived long enough to surpass Dumble's age. Knowledge comes with experience. And with experience comes power.’_

_‘You are indeed a hardworker… Actually you’re quite lazy without Death persisting for you to do paperwork.’_

_‘Nobody likes paperwork.’_

_‘Your loyalty to yourself is remarkable… albeit self-centred, and if I could roll my eyes, I would. The badgers would be eaten alive with you in their garden. Especially with someone with such a bothered mind.’_

_‘Ah but you forget that I am polite. If you do not love yourself, you cannot love others (_ here the hat snorted) _. And my mind is perfectly sane, thank you very much.’_

 _‘And that is what worries me, both with being polite and actually sane enough to think. You could build an army of loyal hardworking people who do not even know the word_ betrayal _!’_

A small unseeing smirk appeared just as fast as it disappeared. 

_‘Lastly… Slytherin. You are of course cunning and power-hungry, though you lack the ambition.’_

_‘I do have an ambition that I work hard for!’_

_‘Planning Muggle-genocide when you are bored isn’t called ambitious.’_

_‘Perhaps… By the way, did you know that Honey Badgers love to eat Snakes?’_

_‘Ah? Oh! I see I see. Well, I don’t want to be the one to ruin your_ masterplan _– and get shredded in the process – so… you will do well in…’_

“HUFFLEPUFF!” was shouted out loud. 

_‘Thank you. Perhaps we could converse some more in the future? A camping or fishing trip would do wonders!’_

_‘Of course, young badger.’_

Dumbiedoor looked at Marcaunon with a shocked – and slightly suspicious – expression as he freed his head from the hat. He estimated that he took quite some time but brushed it away and head towards the badgers that were cheering and clapping.

The transfigure professor had assumed that he would be sorted into Slytherin – which was not exactly false – and be the exact copy of Tom Riddle. Marcaunon knew that Dumpleboar was neither blind nor dumb, and no doubt thought him the second coming of a Dark Lord whom came from the very same line as the Heir of Slytherin. He supposed he had played the Riddle role too flawlessly back in the orphanage.

Too bad for Bumbiepoo, Marcaunon had other much more important matters to tend to. And that he is a magnificent actor. 

If he were to follow in Tom Riddle’s footsteps – tempting but not worth it – just to see Dumb-old-duck try to dispose a bud in the making... The goat could either get lucky and actually get rid of him or hinder him in staying at his dream home.

But he digressed once again.

His robes and tie changed their colors to match the house of badgers and he felt weird being made to wear them. He knew that green and silver matched him far better than yellow and black.

He shook his head to clear the thoughts of what he would look good in, and buckled his mask in place; smiling politely at his new housemates.

Time to begin his new life in the Magical World.

* * *

 **_Rainbows and Popcorn,_ **  
**_GenderlessPerson_ **

**[Revised: 14 April 2015]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **July 1955**  
> -Most lines were spoken by eleven year old Tom Riddle and a younger Dumbledore.  
> -Hogwarts' list provided by HP Wiki  
> -Sorting Hat song provided by HP Wiki


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumbies would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.

**Chapter 3: Hogwarts Years**

“Human tongue”

**_“Parseltongue”_**

* * *

_1 st September 1955_

_Location: Hogwarts_  
_Year: 1_

The sorting continued in a similar fashion; calling of names, announcing of House, and of course - the clapping. Oh he was so going to create a spell to reduce volume to one’s own ears. Marcaunon could tell that the upper years (mainly sixth and seventh) were bored and hungry, though the house of Serpents was more subtle in their body language and expression.

In Marcaunon’s original dimension, most Lions (he was being hypocritical since he was a lion as well) and Badgers (now he was a hybrid lioger) would think that Slytherins are for evil Dark Wizard and Witches. They would lie, cheat and take advantage of you. Of course that’s somewhat true, but adults should not judge little eleven year olds. They’re children and could not even place a proper mask on yet. It would take at least their reaching of fourth year to master their emotionless blank mask that many older Slytherins wear.

He should really stop getting side-tracked.

His eyes scanned the head table. He recognized Horace Slughorn right off the bat; he was much younger looking due to his straw blonde hair (a little on the grey side, but he still had hair!) and still plump in the belly. On first glance, he could pass as a pushover Slytherin, making people underestimate him whilst he analyzed them thoroughly. The glee on his face when he heard the name Gaunt didn’t go unnoticed by Marcaunon, and he would be looking forward to having a nice chat with the residence Potions’ Master.

Next was Armando Dippet. If he remembered correctly the Headmaster was three hundred and eighteen years old, and would be dead next year. This would lead to Bumblebee being chosen as Headmaster.

Lastly was Filius Flitwick. The half-goblin looked to be in his early twenties, and probably new towards teaching. Even though still young, Flitwick’s dueling skill was not one to be underestimated. Marcaunon always wondered why Dumbshite never recruited Flitwick to his Order of Barbequed Turkeys. He made a mental note to gain Flitwick as an ally. As they say, one can never have too many allies.

His eyes swept the table once again to double confirm that he had not missed anyone else – which he didn’t. The other professors were unknown and he would bet a knut (yess he was _that_ stingy) that Voldemort had already cursed the DADA position. Perhaps he could amuse himself each year by having a hand in making the DADA professors leave early. Maybe he could even feed the Basilisk a professor or two as a peace offering! Isn’t that exciting?

The sorting was finally finished – much to the starving students’ happiness – and Dippet stood to give an opening and welcoming speech. It was so much better than Dumbafork’s. At least he did not attempt to speak garbbish at the end of said speech. The Headmaster clapped his wrinkled hands once and everyone cheered (the first years startled) when the food appeared.

“Hello, I’m Pomona Sprout. Hogwarts sure is beautiful, isn’t it?” A slightly plump girl with brown hair and eyes, reddish cheeks and bright smile introduced herself to the group of Hufflepuff first years.

Hogwarts truly is a wonderful place he agreed.

“Beautiful? It’s amazing! And I’m Arnold Walker by the way. I never knew that magic existed until I’ve gotten my letter from Professor Dumbledore.” The boy sitting across from her replied with a grin on his face and a goblet of pumpkin juice in one hand. His head was a mess of dirty blonde whilst his blue eyes sparkle with happiness. He somewhat reminded Marcaunon of one of the Parasites he had played with. If he remembered correctly, it was a woman he nicknamed Mother, her name was lost to him after he left the Manor.

“A muggle-born? I am as well! My family and I were pleasantly surprised when the Professor dropped by and announced that there was a world of Magic hidden just under our noses. Are you one as well, Sprout? Oh and I’m Connor Hill, but Conner’s fine.” A boy with neat dark hair and eyes spoke. And as expected, his face was full of smiles. Merlin, he had forgotten that the Badgers were usually filled with cheerful Mudbloods. They were lucky he refrained from shedding Magical blood, unlike Voldie.

“Please, call me Pomona. I'm a Pureblood. My family has been in Hufflepuff for generations.” Sprout replied. That explained why she became the Head when she’s older… Or perhaps being a Herbology professor comes with being Head Puff. Like how all the Potion Master in Hogwarts became Head of Slytherin, or Transfiguration Professors become Head of Lions, he noted. 

“Do we have to wear these hats at all times? I’m Christopher Davies, muggle-born. Call me Chris.” Another boy questioned. His chestnut brown hair parted sideways, none covering his dark green eyes watching the hats with exasperation.

“No, mum said that the hats are only for special occasions; such as the welcoming feast.  This is my little sister Maria, and I’m the more stunning and attractive twin Ave. Our family – the Abbots – has been in all the houses apart from Slytherin.” One of the twins answered. Both were identical and only a person that could sense their magical signatures could tell them apart. Marcaunon took note of both.

They had dark blonde hair and brown eyes, similar to an Abbott he knew of back then. Both were wearing identical grins on their faces.

“I am going to deny that my lovely sister being the more stunning twin, do call me Mia. Maria makes me sound like I’m in trouble!” The other twin chirped.

“You both look identical to me… Oh but thank heavens for small mercies. I doubt I could get used to wearing a pointed hat at all times.” Davies sighed happily as he grabbed a spoonful of mash potatoes.

What is wrong with wearing wizarding hats!? Bloody Mudbloods are already forcing their traditions and beliefs upon Magicals – contradicting everything. Have they never read the Bible and Magical History!? It’s common sense that our magic comes from Goddess Hecate.

Now they complain about our daily wear. What next? Force the Dark Families to tear down their Manors to make room for smaller houses? Making House Elves look Dark and Evil just because 99% of the wizards could never achieve wandless magic? Oh wait! It has already been done in his original dimension.

Marcaunon sneered inward at how pathetic the Ministry has fallen. They should teach Mudbloods about their history, not follow Parasite beliefs! Because of these types of people, Dark Lords were created and the civilians would suffer.

“I heard that Slytherin produces Dark Wizards and Witches. Is that true or are they just rumors? I’m Risa Edeson, call me Risa. I’m a half-blood.” A girl sitting next to Marcaunon questioned curiously. She has dark brown hair that reached past her chin, and black sharp eyes that were shining.

Yess Slytherin produces Dark Magicians whilst Hufflepuffs produces splendid gardeners. Note the sarcasm.

“It’s true. The very first Dark Wizard to be known was Salazar Slytherin himself. It is said that their common room is filled with Dark Tomes and Artifacts. I’m Suzzie McQuillen by the way. Pureblood.” A girl with curly light brown hair and eyes confirmed with a somewhat solemn air that was ruined by her smirk. The rule clearly states that the students are not allowed to bring any Dark tomes or artifacts to school, and it’s illegal as well. Also, Salazar was not the first ever Dark Wizard for Merlin's sake!

He couldn’t take this anymore!

Magic is magic; Dark, Light or Grey. The school should be teaching them about all three, not become bigoted and define them with colors. Dark does not mean Black or Evil. Light does not mean White or Good. Grey does not mean Neutral or borderline Evil.

Dark Wizards don’t make them evil, just as Light Wizards don’t make them good.

There is no Good or Evil, only Magic.

As much as he wanted to correct them, he would not… Yet. He’ll slowly break the children from the Ministry’s influences and let them know the true history of Magic.

Once again, he got distracted and now they were all looking at him; waiting for him to introduce himself. He smiled politely back at them. It hasn’t been an hour and his facial muscle was ready to collapse on him. He sincerely hopes that he doesn’t look constipated.  

“Nice to meet you all, I’m Marcaunon Gaunt. I’m sure we will get along nicely.”

“Marh-cauw-naun?” Davies questioned, looking quite taken aback. He knew that Mudbloods would generally find these types of names odd.

“Marcaunon.” He corrected patiently. “Our family has a tradition of naming their children with … unique names that begins with the letter M.”

“What does your name mean, actually? Not to be rude or anything!” Walker quickly said the second part, afraid that he had offended Marcaunon.

“Ruler.”

“What language is it from? I’ve never heard of such…”

Before Marcaunon could reply, Ave interrupted with a clear of her throat.

“Wow… Is your family uhm… full of dark wizards and witches? I-I mean because only Dark families like the Blacks name their children with … star constellations.”

“Indeed they are rather… Dark. Rest assured that I am unlike them. My family and I are not on speaking terms.” Because his father had no idea of his existence whilst there is a high percentage that he was forgotten by his mother. "I _was_ sorted into Hufflepuff." 

They relaxed and chattered as they ate, him included. He didn’t want to be an outcast and forced himself into smiling for social niceties. He wondered idly if there was a spell for making his corners of his lip stick upwards.

True to what others say, Hufflepuff was filled with friendly and cheerful – leftovers – people. Marcaunon almost retched at the sheer sweetness of these Hufflepuffs. He had lost his already small appetite in fear of getting diabetes.

“Did you notice that you have a few insects in your hair, Gaunt?” No, he has not noticed a few butterflies attached to his person all _throughout_ his journey from the orphanage.

“I have. Butterflies have a tendency to flock me.” He replied evenly.

“Really!? That’s so cool! Did you put butterfly food all over your hair?” Why he was even bothering to give a reply, he would never know.

“Butterflies do not eat, they drink. They have a long narrow tube in their mouth called a proboscis that acts as a straw, and usually set themselves on flowers to drink nectar.”

“So you put nectar on your hair?”

“Walker! Stop asking Gaunt such questions! He’s embarrassed!” Sprout chided whilst Walker gave an apologetic look towards Marcaunon.

He was not embarrassed! His hair is nectar-free as well, thank you very much!

“It’s been in…” Mia started.

“…our mind since…” Ave continued.

“…the boat ride…” They both turned towards him.

“Why are you not wearing shoes?” They asked in unison. “Does Hogwart even allow that? Won’t the Headmaster scold you if you do not wear proper footwear?”

“There are no rules that specifically said that students are needed to wear covered shoes. The Headmaster is a busy man. We should finish our food before they disappear.” He supplied and the group was quick to shove food into their mouth.

Soon they were finished with eating, the plates disappeared. The fifth year prefects kindly told the first years to follow them and off they went. He somewhat regret asking the hat to place him in Hufflepuff.

The entrance to their common room was a surprise to Marcaunon. Whilst he had the Marauder’s Map back then, he had never had an excuse to seek out the Badger’s domain. It was located beside the kitchens. They had to tap a rhythm of _Helga Hufflepuff_ on a barrel – middle of the second row, two from the bottom – to reveal the tunnel. The prefects explained that they had a security device to repel non-Hufflepuffs, wrong barrel tapping, or tapping incorrectly. This would result in the lids bursting off and drenching the intruder in vinegar. They emphasized not to give away the secret to the other houses and demonstrated to the first years.

They entered a creepy tunnel that made the girls cling to the guys (he had discreetly retreated to use one of the guys as his personal meat-shield) whilst the two prefects looked amused. When they entered the common room, the first years had awe filled eyes and dropped jaws – apart from Marcaunon of course, though he did act as if he was amazed.

The room felt welcoming and warm, the sunlight entering the windows and made the circular room looks quite cosy. If Marcaunon was a cat he would be basking in the sunlight whilst being sprawled on the grassy floor. The room was decorated with plants; giving it an earthly feeling. Some of the plants were even singing and dancing, much to the first year’s amazement.

In the middle of the room was a fireplace, with sofas, armchairs, and bean bags littered randomly around.

They were soon introduced to their head of the house, Herbert Beery, before being ushered to their respective gender dorms. The boys would be sharing a room – similar to the Gryffindor dorms –and Marcaunon chose the furthest bed. Thank Merlin that the beds had curtains; the dorm was too sunny and bright for his taste (along with its occupants).

Whilst his dorm mates were still chatting with one another, he went to unpack his trunk. He place his book bag that was already filled with all his required school items on his nightstand, his potion equipment and ingredients inside said nightstand (after applying an expandable charm) and warded it. After finishing his task, he discreetly armed his bed with weapons that he took out from his trunk. One can never know if their roommates were hidden killers.

He kicked his trunk underneath his bed and warded his whole bed, making it almost as safe as Hogwarts itself. Blame his paranoia and those damnable Parasites whom have the habit – and suicidal tendencies – of dropping bombs on top of his modest cottage.

His dorm mates soon followed his example with unpacking and went to sleep earlier than he expected them to. Well, it was a long and tiring journey to Hogwarts.

He stripped and changed into his sleeping pants, checked that his glamours were still in place and closed the curtains surrounding his bed. As he was lying down, he closed his eyes and cleared his mind.

Marcaunon began his nightly chore of storing his new memories into orbs and placing them onto shelves inside his mindscape – eerily similar to the Hall of Prophecy. He strengthened his occlumency defenses and finally succumbed to sleep; his shields preventing him from having fits of nightmares.

_OOOO_

Marcaunon spread butter over his croissant whilst he nods or hums at appropriate times as his housemates converse.

“What do we have first?” Walker questioned them as he took a bite of bacon. Marcaunon wrinkled his nose in disgust at the oil splatters. How can one eat something that greasy early in the morning, he could never know.

He turned to look at the boy before he answered with a small upward tilt of his lips.

“First period is Herbology with Professor Beery, followed by a fifteen minutes break, and afterwards Potions with Professor Slughorn for second period. Both will be together with the Slytherins. We’ll have lunch afterwards, and then free period until half past three. This will be followed by Flying lessons with Madam Hawk at the field - all the houses will be present. Astronomy with Professor Sora will be at midnight, so I recommend you all to take at least an hour’s worth of nap time after dinner.”

The group of first years stared at him with wide eyes.

“Do we have similar timetables?” Ave asked.

“Yess.” He answered with a nod.

“Blimey, I believe we will not be needing our timetable with Marc here.” Davies exclaimed whilst the others laughed.

Marc. He did not in any name or form give them permission to call him that – or even his first name actually. He withhold the desire to _Crucio_ them into oblivion and smiled sheepishly whilst he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I heard that Professor Dumbledore plays favorites with his own house.” McQuillen whispered to the group suddenly.

“We should not judge him based on rumors.” Marcaunon chided her and hid a grimace behind his goblet. How low he had fallen to defend that old bastard. 

“You’re right… Do we have Transfigure tomorrow?”

“Yess we do.”

“If he does play favorites, we should trust Hogwarts rumor mill more often.” Walker snorted.

“Hmm… May I ask you a question, Marc?” Mia asked with a tilt of her head.

“You already did, but go ahead.”

She grinned as she spoke.

“What’s your first language? I mean, your accent isn’t like any I’ve heard before. They’re somewhat… it’s really pleasant to the ears.” She blushed whilst most of the others laughed at her, much to his confusion.

He raised an elegant brow. Why was she blushing? It was only a question.

“English is indeed not my first language if that’s what you’re asking. We have fifteen minutes before first period starts. Shall we get a move on?”

“Ah! You’re right. We should go in case we get lost on our way there.” Sprout exclaimed as she stood up.

“Hey Ave, should I assume our dear friend Mr. Gaunt has already memorized the layout of the Castle?” Mia asked with a smirk.

“Well my dear adorable sister Mia, I have assumed as much. But why don’t we ask him for confirmation?” Ave replied with a matching smirk.

The group turned towards him as they stood, much to his amusement. Magical Children were so endearing. At times. 

“Your assumption is correct.”

“How? You were with us the whole time, and we haven’t had time to explore!” The twins demanded in unison.

“There’s a map pinned beside the double doors of the Great Hall. I memorized the routes whilst the first years were waiting to be sorted.” It was the truth – not all, but still the truth. There is indeed a map pinned outside the Great Hall, and he had also memorized the routes whilst he was waiting for the firsties to be sorted, just at a different year.

“W-what!? You memorized the entire castle grounds!? All seven floors!?” Sprout whispered – loudly – in amazement.

He shrugged in mock shyness and led them towards the greenhouse. Some of the Slytherin first years had overheard their not so quiet conversation and were following at a safe distance, not that the Hufflepuffs noticed. Marcaunon resisted the urge to roll his eyes at their inattention.

After a few shortcuts, they were first to arrive, followed closely by the Slytherin students. Said Slytherin students were all looking at him with calculating eyes and even without legilimency he could already guess what they were thinking. It seems like his group would be stalked if their houses were to have lessons together in the future.

Just a minute before the bell rang; Professor Beery arrived and led them into their classroom/greenhouse.

“Good morning class! You may all refer to me as Professor Beery. I’ll introduce you all to the fine subject of Herbology–“ He listened with one ear as the Professor explained what was required of them when they were in the greenhouse; like safety.

They soon donned on their gardening robes and gloves. Earmuffs were draped on their necks as the Professor told them about Mandrakes. After half an hour of explaining and warnings their earmuffs were safely covering their ears, and the class began to try and uproot the plants.

He was confused as he thought that they would be learning about Mandrakes in their second year, but he shrugged it off. His mind was soon drifting off whilst he worked. He could think of ways to use Mandrakes.

He could drop a tank full of adult Mandrakes in a village or city. Their cry can be fatal to any who hear it without protection. The Parasites do not know of them and before they could do anything, they would drop dead from prolong exposure of the cries.

Hell, if he could not convince the banshees to scream at those Parasites, he would just have to plant and nurture these plants himself. He was going to make a greenhouse in his backyard after moving into Death’s cottage anyway. Maybe Death could help him look after his garden whilst he was in Hogwarts?

… It would be interesting to see if his plants would survive an exposure from Death... or if they would mutate. 

After the end of the lesson with some of the students dropping the plants by accident, they had lunch before heading towards the dungeons. As expected, the Slytherins followed behind them at a safe distance. Was he their shortcut tour guide? Insert dramatic non-existing wind with his deadpanned expression here.

Just as they sat down, Slughorn entered with a jolly smile plastered on his cherubic features. He introduced himself before demanding the students to partner up with the other house; much to the Serpent’s house ire.

The day continued in a slow pace, and soon they were all in their respective beds. He rubbed his cheeks in a circular motion to try and get his numb facial muscles to feel once more.

His facial muscles were screaming at him in rage at their abuse. Smiling was the worst torture he has ever had the _pleasure_ of experiencing. A couple of decades without moving said muscles apart from talking and eating – ignoring the time where he smiled for a short amount of time in satisfaction – would do that do any bloke. Morgana have mercy on his lips.

 ** _“Having facial cramps?”_** His snaky companion asked in amusement.

Marcaunon groaned and buried his face into the pillows, thus missing his servant’s amused expression as it exchanged looks with one of the butterflies surrounding his enclosed bed.

* * *

 

 _September 1956_  
Location: Hogwarts  
Year: 2

The hall was filled with curious chatter and scandalizing rumors as the students wondered why Professor Dunderdoom was seated in Headmaster Dippet’s throne-like chair. One even said that Dumplingboar had poisoned Dippet just so he could take over Hogwarts. That amused him so much that he couldn’t hold back a snort. His Housemates gave him a weird look since he was a calm person, but the rumor was _almost_ spot on!

Marcaunon himself was bored as he waited for the sorting to finish. He was hungry and tired. His bad mood was sensed by the sensitive Puffs and for once, he was grateful when they do not try and engage him in conversations.

Albus with-too-many-middle-name Dumbledore stood up from his seat and the hall fell into silence. He coughed to clear his throat and put his – Marcaunon’s actually – wand on his throat. Another mental task has been noted down: take back his Hallows.

“Welcome newcomers and welcome back old ones to Hogwarts! Before we begin, I have a few announcements to make. Armando Dippet had recently passed onto his next great adventure. Let us all give him a moment of silence.”

The staff and students both lowered their heads in respect.

“A great man, he was... I have been selected to be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, whilst Professor Veridian shall be the Deputy Headmaster. And also, please welcome the new Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall. She will also be Gryffindor’s Head of House.”

A very young looking Professor McGonagall stood up and bowed whilst the students welcomed her with their applause. The newly named Headmaster swept his arms and silence reigned once more.

“Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are; Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you.” The senile old fart sat down and the tables were filled with food.

Marcaunon bemoaned how his future years would be filled with those exact same words every term and grimaced from behind his cup of pumpkin juice – even pumpkin juice was getting old. He should really create a volume reducer spell… Or perhaps a spell that mutes everything.

“Did Dumbledore short-circuited his brain?”

“No… The better question is… Is he mad?”

“Mad? Yes, perhaps he is a little bit mad. Pass the salt would you, Marc?”

“A mad genius would be a better saying.”

He passed the salt to his housemate and snorted. One can never underestimate the gossip mill at Hogwarts. Dundiedoo would be rumored to be insane by the end of the feast.

“Rumor’s saying that he got his head hit by a bludger and became senile.” Does Dumbles even play Quidditch…?

After the feast, they made their way to their respective dorms and began their duty of unpacking. As usual, he warded his bed as if it were a fort and closed his curtains before tossing a black mamba onto his pillows, whilst the butterflies on his person fluttered and landed on the drapes.

It hissed a few words of complaint but didn’t protest to the rough treatment; It was already used to Its Master’s _tough love_. He stretched himself and yawned.

“ ** _Good night Death_** , my Sinners.”

_OOOO_

The common room was noisy as usual as the Badgers chattered excitedly about the Quidditch tryouts. He remembered being a seeker once and to be truthful, he preferred flying without the aid of brooms.

He thought back to the time where he was forced to learn how to fly when he was thrown off a cliff by those blasted Parasites. Not to mention how they wrapped his hands, arms and legs together with chains – he couldn’t even move a finger! His sight was blindfolded and he was gagged, not forgetting that they used some sort of neck restrains to deny neck movement. It was cruel and he suffered from constant nightmares due to their treatment.

At first he had done so on accident when he felt his life on the line, and he was all but stubborn. It took him a few months before he decided to throw himself off a cliff thinking that if he wanted to live, he better fly.

And fly he did.

He never wanted to repeat such _training_ ever again. He had almost flattened himself since his magic didn’t react until he was but a few feet from getting his innards splattered all over the rocks.

That moment where your life flashed through your eyes was the scariest thing in the world, he had to admit. It was such an eye opener that he was almost tempted to create his own Horcrux. Almost.

The scarlet eyed pre-teen snorted at his train of thought and repressed a shudder.

“Hey Marc! Let’s go to the tryouts!” Davies yelled from across the room. Most of the Puffs turned towards him with twinkling eyes and he felt the need to bolt out of the room.

“I’m not really a fan of Quidditch…” Or flying on brooms.

“Oh come on! You’ll love it! Promise!” A random senior said with enthusiasm.

“Yeah, you need some exercise and sun anyway. You’re way too skinny and pale.”

Before he could deny the need to straddle a piece of wood, Edeson and McQuillen appeared and dragged him towards the exit. He protested half-heartedly and sighed in resignation when Walker appeared from behind just to confiscate his study material.

He sometimes wished that they know the real him. They would not even dare to touch him. Ugh cooties!

The group of Badgers that wanted to tryout made their way towards the field. The quidditch team was already waiting for them.

They were separated into which position they were trying by the captain. The group of wannabe seekers was the first to be called out. They were all given identical brooms and asked to catch one of the five snitches that were already flying throughout the field.

After that the five will be having a showdown for the fastest to be chosen and selected.

Marcaunon relaxed against the bleachers as he waited for his group to be called. Most of his second year mates were devastated when he announced not wanting to play seeker. If he would be forced to participate in the sport, he would have the right to choose the position he wanted. And he wanted the position that could hurt others in the name of sport.

Majority of the Puffs do not have the guts to hit another player with bludgers and that was one of the main reasons as to why they kept losing the Quidditch Cup to the other houses – especially the Slytherins. Snakes were ruthless.

He would paint the field with their opponent’s blood, innards and brains. Not that the Puffs would know that it was intentional of course. He needed a physical outlet to vent his frustrations without his housemates thinking that he was violent. Once again, it’s all in the name of sport.

After the seeker was chosen - a petite third year boy whose name he had missed - his group was called and his party of eight wished him good luck – not that he needed it. He mounted one of the brooms and was passed a wooden bat that was enchanted to not break upon constant contact.

He never really paid much attention to how a Beater would be chosen before, so he listened carefully and went into position. He would have to try and aim for the cardboard players and defend his team against any stray bludger.

He flew through the air and twirled the bat in his hand. The broom’s speed wasn't that bad and he could balance with one hand.

“Are you ready, Gaunt?” The captain shouted from below.

“Yess…” He drawled, removed his spectacles for a much better vision and narrowed his scarlet eyes.

He was oblivious of his Housemate’s nerves upon seeing the color of his eyes, and continued to hit the bludgers that were shot from an enchanted shooting machine. It was similar to the Parasite version of a baseball pitching machine.

All the bludgers he hit knocked the cardboard players off their brooms and he never once missed when defending his team of cardboard mates. The captain whistled in appreciation at Marcaunon’s batting skill.

If he was a Parasite, he would totally rule the baseball world.

After the machine stopped vomiting bludgers, he dived down without a second thought. He could hear shouting but ignored them in favor of feeling the cool air brushing against his reddened cheeks.  He pulled up just as his broom brushed against the grass and exhaled softly. It had been so long since he flew.

He donned his spectacle and hopped off of his broom, only to be surrounded by the quidditch team members that were awed by his dive. The newly positioned seeker looked worried that he would be replaced and sent him glares every now and then.

“Merlin Marc! That was amazing!” The Abbott twins exclaimed with excited grins on their faces.

“Amazing!? It was insane! You could’ve broken your neck!” Sprout scolded as she placed her hands on her hip, frowning in disapproval and worry.

“You have to admit it though, that was one bloody hell of a dive.” Walker announced and hit him on the back playfully. “Nice going mate!”

“Want to try catching a snitch?” The captain said in a whisper, but they heard it all. The third year seeker’s face was furious red and Marcaunon could practically see the smoke emitting from his ears.

He laughed it off and shrugged his shoulders.

After a few minutes of him giving non-answers, the captain announced that he still had another Beater position so they were quick to assemble. Marcaunon made his way to the bleachers and wished his party luck on their chosen positions.

The tryouts ended with only him being chosen from second year. His group congratulated him without any grudges (they were Puffs after all) and stated that they would try again next year, which he gave a nod of approval. People who quit just because they lost once were better off not living.

Just as Marcaunon sat on one of the couches in the common room, a few older Puffs stood in front of him with determination in their eyes. He looked up at them in confusion.

“Can I help you?”

“We want to know if your eyes are really red.” The leader said. “My father once told me that only wizards and witches that perform the darkest of the Dark Arts have red eyes.”

“And we know that you’re from a dark family, don’t try to deny it! Only they name their children weirdly.” Another spoke up.

Marcaunon arched a brow and chuckled in mirth. It was true that his eyes turned scarlet due to him playing around with Dark Magic, at its highest level that is. Soul and Death magic would of course change him. Luckily it didn’t deform him into a snake man. He preferred having a nose, thank you very much.

“It is indeed true. My eyes are red.” The common room was silent as they listened to him. “But ever since my coming to this world, it has always been red.”

“… So you were born with red eyes?” One of the older teens asked.

He smiled at her with a shrug, not agreeing or denying her question.

The Badgers convinced themselves that he was indeed born with red eyes and continued off where they left; chatting and playing exploding snap amongst themselves.

Marcaunon took out one of his tomes and started to read it absentmindedly. The Puffs were naïve and too trusting at the most important of times.

He remembered the words his former DADA Professor had once upon a time ingrained in him, quite literally he might add; _I must not tell lies._

He was lucky that that Burdensome Jailer Dog had not forced him into writing _‘I_ may _not tell lies’_.

Blood quills were usually used for unbreakable contracts, and have an instant effect once the writer’s skin was permanently imprinted with a vow. If he were to mark himself with those damn words, he could _never_ tell a single lie in his life, lest he wanted to become a Parasite.

It was too bad for her that his skin was burnt by acid and chemicals, resulting in him being scar free the next few weeks… Of course it ended when he was cut open once again.

His thoughts were pushed aside as a beautiful Summer Azure Butterfly landed on his arm and he gave it a small smile. He never noticed as some of the older teenagers blush at how cute his expression was.

* * *

 

 _1957_  
Location: Hogwarts  
Year: 3

**[Song: Cartoon Heroes by Aqua]**

The soft almost non-existent sound of someone’s bare feet was amplified throughout the corridors as Marcaunon walked towards the direction of the second-floor girls’ lavatory. His housemates were hard to escape from and he only had time after curfew to place all the necessary charms inside Hogwarts. He has been doing this for the past few months.

Once his map of Hogwarts was fully complete, he would make one for the Ministry, St. Mungo’s, and Gringotts. The last being the most difficult. 

He suddenly thought about a song he used to sing when he was bored in his cottage-like fortress.

“We are what we’re supposed to be…” He started singing whilst looking down at the newly made Marauders’ Map, now simplified to Hogwarts' Blueprint.

“Illusions of your fantasy… All dots and lines that speak and say… what we do is what you wish to do~”

He drummed his finger on his thigh.

“We are the color symphony, we do the things you wanna see~ Frame by frame, to the extreme!”

He twirled around before he continued his walk.

“Our friends are so unreasonable~ They do the unpredictable… All dots and lines that speak and say… What we do is what you wish to do!”

He checked the map again when reaching a fork and turned right before holding his wand (11” Yew Phoenix feather) like a makeshift microphone.

“It’s all an orchestra of strings… doin’ unbelievable things… Frame by frame, to the extreme! One by one, we’re makin’ it FUN!”

He shouted the last word before slapping himself for being loud. He peeked at the map and sighed in relief when the patrolling Professors were not running towards him.

“We are the Cartoon Heroes… Oh oh ohhh~ We are the ones who’re gonna. Last. Forever! We came out of a crazy mind oh oh ohhh~ And walked out on a piece of paper!”

He grinned and pointed his rolled up map upwards.

“Here comes Spiderman, arachnophobian~ Welcome to the toon town parteh! Here comes Superman, from never-neverland~ Welcome to the toon town parteh!”

He stopped at another intersection and peeked at his map before running left whilst still singing in his microphone.

“We learned to run at speed of light~ And to fall down from any height" Here he jumped down from the top of the staircase to the bottom. "It’s true, but just remember that what we do is what you just can’t do!”

He moved sneakily past a few non-sleeping portraits before skipping off.

“And all the worlds of craziness~ A bunch of stars that’s chasing us~ Frame by frame, to the extreme! One by one, we’re makin’ it FUN!”

He posed at the last word with a peace sign beside his head and his tongue peeking out. It was a creepy cute pose that was often used by girls acting cute in a picture. He would be mortified if anyone saw him in such a pose, but he was enjoying himself too much to care.

It had been a long time since he felt so carefree.

“We are the Cartoon Heroes oh oh ohhh~ We are the ones who’re gonna. Last. Forever! We came out of a crazy mind oh oh ohh~ and walked out on a piece a paper!”

He ignored his map in favor of skipping past a few statues whilst pretending that they were his audience, and winked at the lot. 

“Here comes Spiderman, arachnophobian! Welcome to the toon town parteh! Here comes Superman, from never-neverland! Welcome to the toon town PARTEH!~”

He paused and saunter with a solemn air.

“You think we’re so mysterious… Don’t take us all too serious... Be original… And remember that… what we do is what you just can’t do…!”

He suddenly smirked and sang smugly.

“What we do is what you just can’t do~ What we do is what you just can’t do~ What we do is what you just can’t do~ What we do is what you just can’t do!”

He took a deep breathe in.

“We are the Cartoon heroes oh oh ohh! We are the ones who’re gonna last. For. Ev. Er. ~ We came out of a crazy mind oh oh ohhh~ And walked out on a piece of paper!”

He unrolled his map.

“There’s still more to come, and everyone will be…! Welcomed at the Toon… Town… Paaaaarrrt– Holy crap!”

His eyes widened in horror when he took notice of the patrolling Professors’ names that were _right_ _behind_ of him. He ever so slowly turned to them in a rusty robotic kind of way and saw that most of them hiding their laughter behind their hand.

How long have they been following him!?

“Mr. Gaunt… As interesting as it is to watch you … _skip and pull poses_ along the corridors, it is past curfew…” Professor McGonagall stated with a stern expression. It was betrayed by the mirth in her eyes.

Marcaunon blushed furiously to the tips of his ears and hid his burning face behind his hands. How mortifying!

* * *

 

 _December 1958_  
Location: Hogwarts  
Year: 4

“Welcome! I’ve heard a lot about you from both Mia and Ave.” Mrs. Abbott greeted as Marcaunon came out of the floo.

“Thank you for inviting me to your home, Mrs. Abbott.” He smiled and kissed her knuckle as a greeting.

Her face flushed in embarrassment and he could guess that she was not used to Pureblood greetings. Perhaps she was a Mudblood that married the scion of the Abbott family? That would make the twins first generation Purebloods then. 

“Please, call me Jane. Mrs. Abbott makes me sound old. Follow me; I’ll bring you to their room.”

He nodded and followed behind whilst memorizing the layout of the manor. It was not as big as Malfoy Manor, but it was a decent size for a Light Pureblood Family, disregarding the Weasleys. That reminded him, he had always wanted to know what wards were holding the Burrow together and wondered if a crack in such wards would lead the house to collapse on itself.

He complimented on her manor and received a stuttered thank you in return. The twins really take after her, especially the way the three of them blush when he complimented them.

His musings were cut short when Mrs. Abbott knocked on a pink colored door. Not any type of pink, it was _neon_ pink. He looked at her with a face that expressed ‘ _am I supposed to go in there?_ ’

She gave him an ‘ _of course’_ look. He swallowed a lump in his throat and opened the door slowly, as if a creature would jump on him if he were to startle the inhabitants of said room.

He was suddenly reminded of playing a game called Ju-on before. Every single time he opened a bloody door, a bloody hand would bloody grab him and make him scream bloody murder. Yes, there were a lot of _bloody_ spouting from his mouth when he played that game.

Just as the door was almost fully opened, a hand shot from the shadows and grabbed his wrist tightly. He gave a girlish scream – that would be denied in the future – of bloody murder and started shaking his wrist fiercely whilst shouting for a knife to cut said wrist off, much to Mrs. Abbott’s amusement and horror.

“Marc! Marcaunon! Relax, it’s just me!” Mia was quick to reassure the hysteric scarlet eyed teen.

Marcaunon swore that his soul had almost left his body in fright.

“Hey… Who knew Marc was such a scaredy-cat!” Hill laughed whilst Ave patted Marcaunon’s back in comfort.

He would not be frightened if he didn’t think about that wretched game in the first place! All thanks to the bloody neon pink door! Who colors their door pink anyway!? If he one day becomes the Minister, he would force everyone to use a sliding door that can only be opened by a wand.

“Ok that’s enough from you guys! Can’t you see he’s already pale enough as it is!?” Sprout scolded them.

Just four years in Hogwarts and he had already changed so much. He was growing soft in his old age. At least he knew that he won’t lash out and slice a person in half if they were to attempt to sneak behind him.

“Fine fine. Sorry ‘bout that. You’re usually calm, and it was hard to see you lose your cool. It isn’t an excuse to keep on scaring you… But who knew you were afraid of Ghosts! I mean, Hogwarts is full of ‘em!” Hill exclaimed.

“…I played a horror game once. Other than the spirit grabbing your wrist at random times when you open a door, it crawled on floors and walls as well.” Marcaunon murmured softly. He sat in between the twins… Just in case.

“That does sound scary…” McQuillen squeaked. “W-What’s the title of the game?”

Ju bloody On.

“I can’t remember. I only played it once.”

He really was growing soft! Bloody horror games and their jump scares. Now he’ll have a hard time opening doors manually when in Hogwarts. The Castle was already creepy as it is, especially during the night… Now how was he supposed to take his nighty stroll alone!? Screw that, he would be avoiding the Chamber of Secret’s entrance! Who knows what could crawl up such a tunnel… Add in shudder here.

* * *

 

 _1959_  
Location: Hogwarts  
Year: 4 (going 15 years old)

He was drinking his beloved cocoa whilst savoring its sweet taste when he was unceremoniously shoved out of his seat. This led to how his fingers slackening, his hand unclenching, and his wrist bent in an abnormal angle upon impact. The easier way to describe the outcome from such an unfortunate accident was that he spilled his beloved drink all over himself whilst sustaining a broken wrist.

“Ah..” A voice behind him spoke in surprise. “Errr, are you ok? I-it wasn’t on purpose, honest!”

Marcaunon slowly stood up from the floor to turn at the speaker. Said speaker was a Gryffindor – judging by the tie – student, looking to be around his physical age. He arched an eyebrow and looked pointedly to his wrist and spilled drink.

“I-I’ll pay for your drink! Is… Is it broken?” The boy stuttered out as he fumbled around for his money pouch.

“It’s fine. May I ask how you could _accidently_ push a person that was _sitting_ – on a wide and long bench – in a very _vast_ and _secluded_ area?” He questioned slowly as he tried to smile politely. Tried was the keyword. He probably looked constipated and on the verge of committing homicide.

“Uhm.. uhh… You see.. Uhm my friends… and I wanted to … err we were wondering if you wanted to join us?” He laughed awkwardly whilst rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. His face was crimson as he stared at Marcaunon.

It gave him the shivers.

He resisted the urge to throttle the boy. Hogwarts does not supply their students with cocoa and he could only damn well enjoy sipping his beloved drink at Hogsmeade on weekends. ONLY.

“I would love to,” The boy perked up. “but I should go visit Madam Isabell to get my bone fixed.” He deflated.

“Ah… I’m sorry! I-I was running at full speed and was unable to stop in time. Err… sorry!”

“No no. We all have our moments of clumsiness.” Marcaunon waved it off. “I should be going.”

“What about next week?”

“Forgive me, but my fellow Puffs and I have already agreed –“

“Then the week after?” The young Lion interrupted with an eager face.

“Do. Not. Interrupt. Me. Again.” He empathized each word with an increase of Magic Pressure.

The young Lion looked ready to pass out, but squared his shoulders and showed his bravery – stupidity – by opening his mouth yet again.

“Sorry mate! We Gryffindors just talk this way. Hahahaha…” He was not his MATE!

“It’s fine. My wrist is beginning to hurt real badly… So if you’ll excuse me…” He swiftly made a beeline towards an empty alleyway and disapparated to another alleyway.

He ranted in his head for a good five minutes before he snapped his bone back in place and vanished the chocolate mess on his robe. Just as he was about to disapparate again, he was stopped by a hand that tightened on his forearm.

He turned to give the person a good tongue lashing, but startled in surprise.

 ** _“…What are you doing in a place like this, Death?”_** He hissed softly at the cloaked figure.

 ** _“Isn’t this a good opportunity to bring Him into this world?”_**   It released his arm but remained in his personal space. Death had no qualms with stepping into one's personal bubble.

 ** _“W-what? Are you crazy!? I’m fifteen for Merlin’s sake.”_** He removed his spectacle and proceeded to rub the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He just wanted to drink his favorite drink in peace, was that so hard?

Death ignored him and snapped Its fingers. His school robe was replaced by an elegant dark red robe with black lining whilst his not-shoes were changed into proper covered shoes, much to his chagrin. The changes led to his butterflies fluttering away.

 ** _“What the bloody hell are you doing…?”_**   He gritted out slowly.

 ** _"The pub’s just up ahead.”_** It stated and pushed its Master out into the open.

Marcaunon looked up towards the sign; Drinkzard. What kind of name is that? These wizards have no idea how to name their stores, or books, or schools, or… anything really.

He sighed and was just about to place his spectacles back in place when it was snatched by Death’s slender digits. It gave him that bloody ‘This-spectacles-is-ugly’ Look which he bristled at, highly insulted. He sighed – he has been doing that a lot recently – once more and walked into the pub with his head held high.

Most of the occupants were purebloods by the looks of it. He scanned his surroundings and made his way towards one of the empty stools near the bar.

“What can I get for you, sir?” The barman asked politely.

“Swott Malt and coke, single tall.” The barman lifted an elegant brow but went to prepare his drink.

He leaned against the counter and clenched his wand subtly. Just as he was about to search for a strong wizard, a man with messy brown hair and hazel eyes sat beside him. He was well-build and looked to be around his early thirties, but with wizards it was hard to confirm. They do age slower than Parasites. Especially if they are powerful. 

The man ordered a glass of firewhisky and turned to Marcaunon.

“You look rather young to be drinking.” The man spoke with a deep baritone.

Marcaunon arched a brow and took a sip of his drink before he deemed it long enough to reply.

“A wizard’s appearance doesn’t match their _true_ age sometimes.” He purred out.

“Good genes and magic you are blessed with.” The man took a sip before he continued. “May I ask for your name?”

“Is it not customary here to introduce one’s self whilst inquiring the identity of another?”

The man chuckled and smiled seductively at Marcaunon.

“Forgive my mannerism. Call me Charlie.”

“A pleasure I’m sure. And you may call me Markos.” Charlie took Marcaunon hand before lightly kissing his knuckles.

“A… pleasure indeed.” He gave Marcaunon a loop-side grin but didn’t release his hand. “Do you come here often?”

He smiled back politely and attempted to retrieve said hand from the man. It didn’t budge. Cooties!

“No. I have only heard of this place. They say it has a lot of entertainment value.”

“Indeed it has. I myself come here often for such.”

“Oh? And what sort of entertainment do you… appreciate?”

Charlie swirled his drink around and took a sip.

“Would you care to find out?”

“Do you let anybody who comes here know?”

“Only the special ones.” The man eyed his body. Marcaunon shivered in disgust but Charloe seemed to think it otherwise as he began to rub circles on Marcaunon’s knuckle. He felt oddly violated and self-conscious.

Their conversation – one sided flirting – continued for another hour or so as Marcaunon drank at a constant rate. He was getting tired of the man’s not-so-subtle hints. After returning to his beloved bed at Hogwarts, he was going to _violently murder_ Death.

Charlie had waved to the barman, and received a key, before ushering him upstairs. The room was of moderate size, with a door leading towards the bathroom and a Queen sized bed. The room was colored Gryffindor style and he wondered if this room was especially for Charlie – he came to know that that man was a Gryffindor – or the rooms are normally decorated in blinding red and gold.

He excused himself and entered the bathroom. Death was unsurprisingly waiting for him inside.

 ** _“Good to know that my Master knows how to get a bed partner.”_**   It stated with a mock solemn air. **_“They grow up so fast.”_**

 ** _“… Stop being absurdly sentimental... I don’t think I can do this.”_** He leaned against the door and covered his face with his hands.

**_“You can, Master. You were once a Gryffindor yourself.”_ **

He shakily stood up with his servant’s help.

**_“Death… The hat wanted me in Slytherin…”_ **

**_“Well, you ended up in Gryffindor anyway. So gather up your scattered bravery and fight on.”_ **

He gave Death a weird out look.

**_“Death?”_ **

**_“Yes Master?”_ **

**_“The ground’s shaking.”_ **

**_“The ground is perfectly stable, unlike your legs.”_ **

**_“I can’t do it! This is too much! I feel… no, I_ ** **am _going to faint! This is overly repulsive! I’m gunna puke…”_**

 ** _“Pull yourself together, my Master, this experience does not need to be a repeated occurrence.”_**   Death’s voice was surprisingly gentle as It spoke.

 ** _“You are not the one getting someone’s filthy meat-stick shove up your arse, Death!”_** He almost shouted hysterically at the omnipotent being. He covered his eyes with the heel of his hands in anguish. **_“I have never attempted to find pleasure in anything sexually related… after what had happened in the labs.”_**

So much for keeping it cool. He had not had any sexual contact for decades. Those scientists had made sure of that. Even his hand was not well acquainted with his member. Even thinking about getting penetrated made him shiver in _fear_.

 **_“If a mortal’s sex organ does penetrate my_ ** **current _body, the object in question would drop off – quite literally – but if you insist that I bend over and–“_**

**_“No, it’s fine! I do not want or bloody need to have that image in my mind, thank you very much.”_ **

Death sighed and shook its head.

**_“If you are quite finish, I have much work to be done. Mortals won’t stop dying just because I am taking a short break. If you’ll excuse me, Master…”_ **

**_“Y-you’re leaving!? You can’t leave me here alone!”_** Marcaunon grabbed Death’s sleeve; like a child who wanted their parents to stay.

**“ _On the contraire, I do not wish to … be a spectator of your_ bedding.”**

**_“You don’t have to be so… crude. Forget it.”_ **

There was a silence before Death released a somewhat inpatient sound from its throat.

**_“Well?”_ **

**_“Uhm… It’s… Just that…”_ **

**_“Yes?”_ **

_**“He won’t cut open my pelvic area up just to squeeze my rectum to him feel more pleasure will he?”**_ He blurted out _. **“Or cut off both my arms so I could do nothing but watch as he forces metals and unidentified objects inside me will he? Or –“**_

 **_“No Master. He is not_ ** **Them _. He won’t do anything but impregnate you.”_**

 ** _“Then… I will feel… good?”_** Marcaunon hated how meek he sounded.

**_“It depends on your partner’s skill – or lack thereof.”_ **

**_“On my partner? I thought you’ve never…”_ **

**_“Of course I have, just not in this body, but I digress–“_ **

**_“Now you’ve peaked my curiosity.”_ **

**_“You will experience pleasure or pain all by depending on your partner’s knowledge, past experience, age, and perhaps size.”_** It continued like it didn’t get interrupted by its Master.

 ** _“I beg your pardon?”_** He blinked.

**_“For example, the person you chose as your partner is somewhat young and supposedly – actually – straight.”_ **

**_“You won’t know that for sure…”_ **

**_“In fact, I do know the man waiting for you is straight. You’re the first man he’ll have intercourse with. Anyway, there’s a high probability that it will bring_ ** **slight _discomfort.”_**

**_“Perhaps I should wait for another year or two or –“_ **

**_“You’ve had worst.”_ **

**_“I know alright! But I’m only reaching fifteen! Underage person right here!”_ **

**_“Technically you’re 177, but never you mind, my Master. Sooner or later you will have to face your fears. Not all at once, but one at a time.”_ **

**_“Why do I have to be the one to carry the fetus anyway!?”_** Being the one who fucks is better than being fucked. Even though he had never had the chance of burying his member into anyone, he would guess that being the one who does is better than being done.

Wait… Does that mean he was considered a virgin at the age of 177? Wow. 

 **_“We have already gone through this before, Master.”_ ** It started to sound exasperated.

**_“Then please explain it to me once more because everything has fled my mind.”_ **

**_“… The reason as to why you will need to be the_ ** **carrier _is because after the body is prepared, you will be the one to put the soul into said body. Since a piece of the same soul has been with you for seventeen years, it would trust you to put it inside a body made from your very own flesh and blood.”_**

**_“I seriously doubt it, but fine! You have to stay with me and give me moral support though!”_ **

**_“As I previously said, I do not wish to witness my Master’s supposedly making of my future godson.”_ **

It turned around and disappeared without another word or sound.

 ** _“Traitor!”_** He cried out and ranted for a few minutes before remembering that the man outside had already waited for at least fifteen minutes.

He stepped into the room and was surprised to see that Charlie was standing in a daze. Death must’ve known that he would be hysterical and needed time to prepare. What a handy skill It has. 

Charlie soon snapped out from the state he was previously in and leered at him. He gave a strained smile in return.

He was soon pulled towards a firm chest and kissed on the mouth roughly. Marcaunon resisted the urge to gag and opened his mouth to allow entrance into his cavern. Whilst the tongue eagerly mapped his mouth, Charlie had pushed him backwards and he bounced onto the bed.

A body was soon on top of him and hands began roaming his and he shuddered with disgust, which earned a needy thrust from the man above him. Marcaunon could feel the hazel eyed man’s hardened covered length against his thigh and clenched his fists in an effort to stop himself from throwing the body off of him.

At least Charlie wasn’t into bondage.

**[Sex scene removed]**

_OOOO_

Charlie recovered soon after and groaned in satisfaction as his muscles stretched in pleasure. He felt pleased, before remembering that he had made a reservation at a fine dining restaurant for his marriage anniversary with his wife.

He checked the time, cursed softly and began to fumble for his clothes.

The hazel eyed man looked towards his one night stand’s features and couldn’t help but stare entranced at the sight. The young man had a beautiful face, and he looked innocent when he was asleep. His body was petite, but covered with lean muscles. Charlie could estimate that the young man was around 165cm. Quite short for someone whom he assumed to be around mid-twenties. 

His hair was spread out on the pillow like a halo, dark lashes brushing over flushed cheeks; from their earlier activity, and those irresistible soft lips that parted as the young man breath evenly. Not to forget how pale his bed partner’s skin was. It was easy to put marks on his chest and neck.

There was an urge to kiss and continue ravaging his one night bedmate, but he resisted.

Charlie shook his head and groaned when he felt his member half-hardening in remembrance at being buried balls-deep within that delectable arse. He quickly donned on his attire and made sure there were no signs that could suspected him of committing fidelity.

He took out his wand and pointed it at the young man’s head.

“You were a good lay, but my wife would kill me if she were to find out what happened between us. No hard feelings eh? **Obliviate**.”

The man returned his wand into his holster and bent down to steal one last kiss (he couldn’t resist!) from the young man before disappearing through the door.

_OOOO_

Marcaunon woke up at the feeling of his arse throbbing and he shuffled through his memories for an explanation. He bolted up, only to yelp and fall back down, when he remembered what had occurred in this very bed and groaned.

He closed his eyes and began creating an orb from the memory and noticed a foreign magic in his mind. He looked at it for a while and gritted his teeth in rage. The nerve of that man to try and obliviate him! He had mixed feelings about not losing his memories but continued to curse the man to hell and back.

He would keep this memory just to find the man and black mail him with it, if he has a family that is. Bloody jerk.

He expelled the foreign magic and continued his task of locking the memory away to the deepest part of his mind. After much intense concentration, he opened his eyes and noticed that his vision was blurred by tears.

Marcaunon didn’t bother to hold them back and covered his mouth as a choked sobbed broke out. He felt disgusted with himself. He felt dirty and used. He felt like he had betrayed himself. Not wanting to make himself depressed, he changed his thought process (hooray for occlumency).

“… Wait a minute… How am I supposed to continue with school when I’m pregnant…?” The scarlet eyed teen grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled. How could he forget such an important detail!?

* * *

 

 _1959_  
_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_  
_Year: 4 > 5_

The familiar sound of an owl pecking a window was heard and a cocooned figure on top a bed groaned. A mop of messy black bed hair was first to appear before a face, followed by arms that threw the quilt off of him.

Marcaunon groaned once again when his vision was filled with bright rays of sunshine. It was too bloody early – for him – to wake up when he wasn’t in school. He turned to glare at the owl and scowled when it continued to peck without mercy on his window glass. Mrs. Cole would throw a fit if it broke.

“Am commin’ you damn bird.” He mumbled venomously and crawled out of bed sluggishly.

He opened the window and untied the letter that was on the bird.

 _Mr. M. Gaunt_  
_Room 27_  
_Wool’s Orphanage_

There was a Hogwarts emblem on it and Marcaunon opened the envelope with care.

_Dear Mr. Gaunt;_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to be one of the Fifth year Prefects for the House of Hufflepuff. Your school record shows that you have exhibited quick-thinking in stressful situations, the ability to lead others, and the hard-working quality that Hufflepuffs have long been lauded for._

_We are certain that you will continue to be a model for your peers and take your new responsibilities seriously. Enclosed please find your Prefect’s badge, which should be worn on your school robes at all times. Congratulations._

_Sincerely,_  
_Herbert Beery_  
_Head of Hufflepuff House_

He turned the envelope over and a badge fell from within. His lips twitch upwards before pushing the owl out of his window. It hooted in protest but flew off anyway. It seemed that his tutoring and polite act did help him achieve something after all.

He rubbed his still growing baby bump and the fetus within him kicked at the rubbing hand. He smiled fondly and chuckled. Ever since he had place the soul inside, it had responded with kicks when he touched his baby bump.

It seemed that He was impatient with being stuck inside. Marcaunon kind of pitied Him for being conscious even though He had yet been born. Death had just waved it off as a miscalculation. He didn’t trust words such as error or miscalculation or side effects from Death’s mouth. The being was probably holding a grudge against Tom Riddle for making a Horcrux. 

* * *

 

 _1960_  
Location: Hogwarts  
Year: 5

He was the only one who sat in a relaxed manner in the Dining-turned-exam-hall. His party of eight were in front of him in rows, yet he could clearly see them sitting stiff back whilst sweating. The other houses that were seated in other rows were showing nervous habits such as nail biting or quill chewing. He shook his head softly and waited for the parchments to appear.

He subtly rubbed his hidden baby bump (covered by layers and layers upon layers of glamour by Death Itself) and hoped that Death would at least give him a back and feet rub afterwards. His bloody feet were killing him. How did Molly Weasley stand being pregnant seven times, he will never know.

His respect for women had tripled ever since his pregnancy. Hecate bless their souls.

One of the Wizarding Examinations Authority announced the beginning of the O.W.Ls exam before the parchments magically appeared – quite literally – on their desks. He sensed an anti-cheating spell all over his given quill, desk, chair, and parchments. Suspicious much…? 

He read through the whole list of questions before writing the answers non-stop. He had learnt how to instant memorize the written information on parchments due to Death’s huge stack of paperwork. An administrator spotted his non-stop writing and made her way to stand behind him to see if he was cheating in any way possible.

He ignored the worker and continued. He was done in ten minutes and placed his quill down. The worker looked at him with barely concealed amazement and he handed her his parchments. She looked through it as he made his way out of the hall.

Most of the Ravenclaws were in denial and he could see without even looking into their minds that they think he wrote random answers. He closed the doors behind him and made his way towards his dorm. Death will have to seriously rub his feet, it really was killing him.

The two weeks of continuous O.W.Ls exams were finished in a similar fashion with him being done within ten minutes when they were tested on theory, whilst he practically breezed through practicals without a hitch. 

* * *

 

 _1960_  
_Location: Wool’s Orphanage_  
_Year: 5 > 6_

Once again, he was interrupted by the familiar sound of an owl’s beak pecking glass. His hormones were already messed up and he didn’t hesitate to open the window and force the bird inside with his magic. It squawked in fright but he paid it no mind.

He untangled from his quilt and willed the letter over to him. Just as his letter reached his person, his magic lashed out towards the bird. This resulted in an explosion of confetti… or not.

The bird exploded like a balloon which led to its blood splattering across the walls, window, door, wardrobe and bed. Marcaunon himself was safe from the mess due to his magic shielding him. He cursed his untamable hormones that were affecting his magic and moods. Even Death had stayed far (very far) away from him when he had started sobbing or shouting at random moments.

Not to mention the bloody cravings. He had once demanded Death to bring him some cheese flavored ice-cream. It wasn’t so bad if he didn’t add in salmon and durian in it as well. He didn’t even want to know how his taste buds had survived such a flavor and just enjoyed the taste.

He looked at the letter in his hand.

 _Mr. M. Gaunt_  
_Room 27_  
_Wool’s Orphanage_

He opened it with a scowl. Stupid letters kept on reminding that he was still in a bloody orphanage. Bloody letter. Bloody school. Damn everything to hell.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Passing Grades:_  
_Outstanding [O]_  
_Exceeds Expectations [E]_  
_Acceptable [A]_

 _Failing Grades:_  
_Poor [P]_  
_Dreadful [D]_  
_Troll [T]_

_Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt has achieved the following O.W.Ls:_

_Ancient Runes – O_  
_Arithmancy – O_  
_Astronomy – O_  
_Care of Magical Creatures – O_  
_Charms – O_  
_Defense Against the Dark Arts – O_  
_Divination – Not Taken_  
_Herbology – O_  
_History of Magic – O_  
_Muggle Studies – Not Taken_  
_Potions – O_  
_Transfiguration – O_

 _Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_  
_(Order of Merlin First class, Grand Sorc, Chf Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

He banished his O.W.L.S result inside his trunk and stretched. He was satisfied with his results and if he were to achieve lower, he would die of humiliation. Perhaps he should get some brunch… after cleaning up his room of course.

* * *

 

 _1_ st _September 1960_  
_Location: King Cross Station Platform 9¾_  
_Year: 6_

The day of finally getting out of that wretched orphanage has come. Marcaunon, with his miniature trunk inside his pocket, Death in Black Mamba form wrapped around his body underneath his robe, and butterflies inside his hair, made his way towards the Hogwarts Express.

He was trying his damned hardest to walk elegantly like usual, but his swollen ankles were giving him a hard time. It was oh so tempting to just waddle his way through the crowd, but he persisted. He wished that he could give birth in nine months, but alas male pregnancies take longer. His trick with floating a millimeter above ground doesn’t work as his magic was being a bitch. If he were to cast Lumos, it would have probably blinded anyone near him. He would not risk himself getting blown away just because of swollen bloody ankles.

His respect for women had gone up so high, they were practically at the top list for respect. If he became Minister, he would make a rule about pregnant people being respected as Goddesses.

It was lucky he came earlier than necessary. Most of the compartments were empty and he made his way towards the nearest. Just as he sat down – oh his ankles were crying in joy – the door slid open, and much to his exasperation; it was the former third year seeker – now seventh year captain.

“Gaunt.” The captain scowled.

“Snuggerud. To what do I owe this displeasure?” He drawled with a sneer. Unlike his other house mates, the captain was always suspicious of him. 

“You’re in the wrong compartment. This is mine.”

“Perhaps you are the one mistaken. I do not see your name on the door or any of these seats.”

“I have always sat here since first year. Do not think yourself as somebody important enough to steal another’s compartment.”

“It matters not to me if you were born in this very compartment itself.”

Snuggerud glowered at him whilst Marcaunon remained his serene self. The captain took a menacing step forward but was stopped when they heard voices coming towards them.

“There there! I spotted Marc, guys!” He recognized the voice as his fellow year mate, Risa Edeson.

She made a beeline towards him with all her luggaged glory. She pushed the captain non-to-gently out of the way and sat beside him with a grin. They were soon joined by his other year mates within Hufflepuff.

“What’s Snuggerud doing here?” Walker questioned just as he sat down.

“No idea. He was just leaving, wasn’t he?” Marcaunon smiled at said person.

Snuggerus glared hatefully at him before he left, but not before slamming the door close. They winced at the loud sound but ignored him nonetheless; used to his temper tantrums around Marcaunon.

“Guess what!? Pomona got selected to be prefect.” Mia cheered. Sprout blushed and thanked them when they offered her congratulations.

“I would bet a galleon that Marc’s the male prefect for Hufflepuff.” Her twin chirped.

They turned towards him and he nodded. They congratulated him and demanded to see his results. He took out his parchment and hand it towards Walker.

“W-w-w-what the! Merlin’s beard!” Walker exclaimed.

“Hmm? What’s wrong?” McQuillen asked in confusion.

Walker ignored the question and passed the parchment over. McQuillen’s eyes widen in shock before the parchment was snatched by the twins. They gasp in surprise and soon his entire party had seen his results.

“How in Merlin’s left testicles did you achieve 10 O’s!?” The twins exclaimed in shock.

He shrugged his shoulders. It would be weird if a bushy know-it-all could achieve such a result and he could not. 

They all exchanged results whilst he stared outside the window.

Sprout soon informed him that they were needed to sit in the prefect’s compartment to be informed of their duties, and proceeded to drag him. His ankles were once again abused and he groaned at the feeling.

“Merlin Marc, did you gain weight?” The slightly plump teenager asked him as she continued to drag him.

“… You think I’m fat!?” He screeched. “I’m not fat! I’m a growing boy! This is all muscles I tell you, muscles! Unlike you on the other hand-” Oh damn his hormones! “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

She looked at him in worry, and slight irritation, but accepted his pathetic reasoning of an excuse.

He would have to inform the Quidditch team that he would have to take the year off. How could he possible fly with his condition? It seem like the puffs would have to pull their own weight since he won’t be there to knock the opponents down their brooms.

_OOOO_

Marcaunon wiggled and rolled around in bed, trying and failing to find a comfortable position. Finally after half an hour of turning, he gave up and padded towards the common room. He sat himself upon his favorite deep brown armchair near the fireplace and sighed to himself.

Lost in thoughts, he startled when a person sat on the chair opposite of him. They stared at one another before Marcaunon decided to break the silence.

“Why are you not in bed?”

“Couldn’t sleep. I thought relaxing in the common room would do me good. And you?” Marcaunon ignored the question in favor of scrutinizing the teen.

The teen has a healthy head of blond hair, just reaching his chin, with narrowed brown eyes. His aristocratic face belonged to the many pureblood children – high cheek bones, angular face, and straight nose. A good looking lad, but could never compare to the Malfoys or the Blacks.

Marcaunon quickly flipped his mental notebook for the senior’s name, but could only come up with his family name. He was not proud to admit that he had forgotten due to the boy’s unnoticed presence.

Deciding that it would be rude to stay silent any longer, Marcaunon gave a lazy and tired upward tilt of his lips. A barely there smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Just restless. I’m sure it’ll pass. Would you like something to drink, Macmillan?”

The blonde tilted his head to the side in curiosity, but nodded with a confused grin.

“Warm milk…?”

“Whisper.”

A pop could be heard, startling the senior. They both turned towards the House-elf.

“Will you fetch us both a glass of warm milk please?” Marcaunon asked politely.

The elf, Whisper, stared wide eye at the both of them – perhaps wondering why they were up at twilight but not daring to ask – whilst nodding fervently. She popped away for only a few seconds before returning with two glasses of milk. It floated to their respective hands.

“Is Young Master Marcaunon sir bes wanting anything else?”

“That will be all, thank you.” The elf squeaked and blushed heavily under Marcaunon’s bright smile of gratitude before popping away once more.

“We could call House Elves?” Macmillan whispered softly to himself in bewilderment.

“Technically no.”

“Huh?” Marcaunon inward snorted. He calls himself a pureblood? At least say _Pardon_ or something.

“You need to build a rapport before you could ask anything of them.”

“Really? I never knew that.”

“Most don’t even know that it was House Elves whom made our food.”

They both sipped their respective drinks as they continued to converse softly. Marcaunon’s smile never dimming whilst the boy continued to beam as he talked rapidly. Not much later, Macmillan excused himself since he was getting tired. They both said their good nights and Marcaunon stared at the blonde’s retreating silhouette.

“Whisper.”

The unique sound of an elf popping was heard as she bowed to him and asked if he needed anything.

“Please bring me a jar of pickles, a bowl of melted chocolate, cheese, and chili sauce.”

Whisper looked at him oddly but complied. He thanked her and dipped a pickle into each respective three bowls and ate with gusto. His cravings have really turned weird.

* * *

 

 _31_ st _December 1960_  
_Location: Dormus Mortem_  
_Year: 6_

Marcaunon sat in his favorite cushioned throne that looked quite similar to the Game of Throne. He had this throne made into an exact replica actually. He hummed to himself as he signed yet another parchment inside the many Deathfiles that littered his office.

Paperwork was going to be the death of him. Just as he thought about the ways to torture his servant, he stiffened at the feeling of his abdomen muscles contract and water bag burst. He felt his thighs and legs downed in water and the pain was quick to make him grimace.

As he held out a finger, one of his butterflies landed on it and he whispered to it. It soon disappeared in a flicker of blue light.

He groaned and tried to stand up, only to fall back on his throne. A cold feeling passed through the room and within a second, Death appeared in all Its cloaked-like glory.

“Master, you called?” It bowed.

“Y-yess. I think I’m in labor.”

“… We haven’t thought about how to bring the baby out… Have we?”

“No you idiot! Are you that dumb!?” He gritted his teeth and counted backwards from ten to calm himself down. It wasn’t Death’s fault that his mood just went down the drain.

Death understood his concerns and shook Its head when Marcaunon shot him an apologetic look. It swept the smaller male into Its arms and glided towards their chamber. It placed Its Master onto the bed and helped Its Master to strip.

“We didn’t … think this… through… did we?” Marcaunon panted as another wave of contraction came.

“I’m afraid not, Master. I’m not an expert in bringing life.” Way to state the bloody obvious. 

“Any of your minions … have experience… in childbirth?”

“… They are unable to reproduce.”

“Fucking great!” He moaned in pain whilst shooting Death another death glare. “Do something! It bloody hurts! Oh god! How do women do this for hours!? Madness I tell you.”

Death covered Its Master with some blankets before disappearing. The butterflies surrounding the bed were fluttering their wings in an almost nervous gesture as they waited for Death to reappear.

It took a few moments, with Marcaunon doing useless deep breathing exercises, before Death appeared with a freaked out healer under Its arm - the being had already made sure that there were no skin contact, lest the healer's soul be taken on accident.  

Marcaunon groaned and covered his face. He was sweating and he wanted the bloody baby out of him. “I don’t care anymore! Get it out already!”

The healer took notice of the large baby bump and struggled to get herself free from Death’s grip. She had all but forgotten that she had been kidnapped and ran towards Marcaunon. A true healer this was.

“W-what..? I’ve never heard of a male being pregnant before!” The healer cried in shock, but was quick to pull her wand out to cast some diagnosis spell on him.

She took out a trunk from within her robe and brought out the required equipment and potions in case she would need to cut him open. Which was one hundred percent a guarantee to happen.

“Argh! Dammit… Please be patient you damn baby…” He cried out as another contraction hit him.  “Fucking demon I tell you! I’ll kill him once he’s out! Ah!”

Death was soon by his other side and held his hand inside Its much bigger one. It wiped the sweat that was accumulating at Marcaunon’s forehead whilst the healer tried to figure out how to get the baby out without endangering the mother’s (or father’s) life.

“Well?” Death questioned when It felt Its Master squeeze Its hand tightly.

“I-I… I have to cut him open. There’s no way out since he doesn’t have a vagina–“

She was interrupted as he shouted.

“Do it then! Just hurry the fuck up!” A nearby lamp has burst when his magic lashed out, much to the healer’s horror. She knew that only truly strong mothers could use or produce accidental magic when they were in the process of giving birth. She idly wondered if the cloaked male was the patient’s husband.

“M-may I ask how old you are?” She asked suddenly when she paused at his face. He groaned and glared at her.

She startled back when she saw how his eyes glowed bright crimson in anger.

“Are you seriously intending to delay getting this devil out just to ask me my bloody age…?” Marcaunon gritted out in barely contain rage.

“O-of course not, s-sir! I’ll have to put you to sleep–“

“No. You may numb the area where you will be cutting. Only that.” He interrupted and prompted her to do as such as he scowled at the feeling of Him kicking to get out. Fucking impatient little shite.

The healer started shooting spell after spell and soon he could see himself being cut open. It took longer than he thought, but she was able to carefully bring the bloodied baby out of his body whilst ensuring that he did not bleed to his death – not that he would.

Soon the room was filled with soft gasping of breath as He struggled to clear his lungs. The healer examined the bundle in her arms and gave an odd sound from the back of her throat.

“Why isn’t he crying…?” She whispered to herself, but everyone heard perfectly clear. As if Tom Riddle would cry, even as a baby. 

Marcaunon could see the babe trying hard to see through his blurry blue eyes.

He nodded towards Death and soon, Death’s magic was casted to Him. The eyes were soon cleared and the babe took in the scene of Marcaunon getting his incision healed whilst Death murmured softly in Its Master’s ear.

“There! All done… Now we have to inform and register–“

Death cut her off by knocking her out.

“At least do it after leaving the room.” Marcaunon murmured softly as he held his son in his (trembling) arms. The babe was looking around with wide eyes, as if not believing that he was indeed finally free.

“Forgive me, Master.” It bowed in apology and Marcaunon had to resist the urge of rubbing his throbbing temples, lest he drop his son. And wow, what a weird word. 

One of the butterflies landed on the unconscious healer and both disappeared after a second. The healer would soon have her memories of this removed. 

“Forget it. Now then… Have you prepared all the necessary paperwork required for home-birth?”

The babe turned to look at his mother (or father) whilst Marcaunon spoke. He felt his little one’s gaze and smiled at the small newborn in his arms.

“Hello there little one.” He whispered softly. The babe gargled a greeting and he chuckled.

Was this how a mother felt for their child? Happiness, pride, protectiveness…? Marcaunon was afraid of damaging such a small thing, and was slightly terrified of accidently breaking the little one’s neck. His little boy was tiny, soft, pruney and pinkish… but he was perfect in Marcaunon’s eyes. Or perhaps he was just biased. This angel did come out from him, after all.

“Yes Master. Everything is in your office.”

“Good work. And write a letter to Hogwarts that I will be unable to attend for a week or so.”

“Of course, Master.”

“Now… How am I supposed to take care of my little one when I still have a year left of school?” He tilted his head and scowled. “Any of your minions know how to take care of newborns?”

“They are worse than I am, Master.”

“… Merlin. I have no choice but to let you handle him huh…?” Marcaunon kissed his son’s chubby cheeks. Morgana, he was just too cute with all those baby fat!

“Master’s faith in me is duly noted.”

“Oh hush you. Isn’t Chaos beautiful?”

“Chaos…?”

“You can’t expect me to call him by his full name, Marchosias, all the time would you?”

“Then why did you give him such a long name?” It deadpanned.

Marcaunon grinned. “Family tradition.”

“Ah yes… To answer your previous question, he’s wrinkly and weirdly colored.”

Marcaunon stared drily at Death whilst the newly named Marchosias gargled and spat incoherent words at the unintentional insult he received.

* * *

 

_March 1961  
Location: Dormus Mortem_

A few months has passed since Tom Marvolo Riddle, now known as Marchosias, was brought into this world. He much prefer his current name. He shivered as he remembered the time when he was stuck inside his mother’s… father’s… womb. It was dark, cramped and made him develop a major case of claustrophobia. Other than his newly named weakness, his parent was a cause of bewilderment. How did a male get pregnant anyway? Did Severus invent a male pregnancy potion before he died?

He had first believed that his father was the cloaked figure at first glance, but he was sorely mistaken when the hooded male called his mother his Master. Was his mother a Dark Lord?

Did he become one after his – Voldemort's – death?

Judging from his mother’s young appearance and how he was still a Hogwarts student – since mother is currently in Hogwarts at the moment – Marchosias concluded that he was from the wedlock. He sincerely hoped that his current mother didn’t dose his current father with love potions. He would have to kill them if that was the case.

He had yet known his family name (and middle), but he assumed that he was taking on his father’s. The cloaked man’s name was still unknown to him as well. He hated not knowing things, especially important things such as his full name.

He was not really neglected, but the cloaked man was awkward with him. He had a lot of time to think of how he had actually come into this world. He remembered his years clearly until his demise (he still grimaced at the thought of it) from the hands of Potter brat, and still in denial at how someone so young could defeat him.

The thought of Potter brought out his anger and he was ashamed to say that he could not control the tears of rage. Damn baby body!

Perhaps he went through the process of being reincarnated, but since he was not a whole soul, he remembered his past life. Weird and full of holes, but he was still in shock to come up with a proper theory.

After a few weeks, he became awfully confused over the date. He had seen the calendar when his mysterious caretaker had brought him into his mother’s office when said caretaker wanted to do some paperwork whilst feeding him.

It was 1961. He wondered if he had travelled back in time or if he was in another dimension altogether. The theories were endless. He made a mental note to research alternate universes as well as Time Travel and groaned when he felt his stomach grumbling. Where was his caretaker anyway?

He heard the floo and assumed that his caretaker had returned from his daily trip to work. The door to his nursery was silently opened and his eyes focused on his mother’s lithe form. He was dressed in his school robes, but what Marchosias wondered was the color of his tie, indicated that he was from Hufflepuff - a badger of all things! He knew that his mother didn’t care much about people in general since his first thought on solving a problem was to get rid of said problem. That means killing.

He was kind of glad that he was related to someone whom doesn’t condemn on killing.

Marchosias had only known him for a week but was already fond of his mother. It was hard not to when he was showered with love. Love that he had craved so very long ago during his first childhood and teenage years.  

“Ah. You’re awake.” And his mother always spoke to him as if he were talking to an adult. It made him wonder at times if he knew that Marchosias understood him. Also, the hissing accent of his mother made him wonder if Marcaunon could speak Parseltongue. It was highly arousing if he weren’t in the body of a baby. “I couldn’t find where your temporary caretaker is… So I assumed he took you out on a walk or something…”

He saw the air surrounding his mother rippled with power, much to his amazement. He always appreciates power. Judging by how much his mother has, he anticipated his new body to be just as powerful - if not more.

“But that dunderhead actually left my little boy alone. In a house full of _strangers_. Alone.” What his mother didn’t know was that he already knew that those so called strangers were Muggle prisoners brought by the cloaked man. He even had the pleasure of witnessing the cloaked figure dragging a muggle by a leash, very much like a dog, to the dungeons. 

The air cleared just as suddenly and he released a disappointed sigh. “Well never mind. Mort has always been awkward.”

Mort? His caretaker was named after _death_? That was creepy even for him. He loathes death and would do anything to escape the concept entirely.

“I have the week off since its Holy Week. Perhaps I could tell you a story to pass time.” His mother picked him up and cradled Marchosias to his chest. “Let’s move to my office, little Chaos.”

His nickname was something that he liked as well – excluding being called _little_. If he were to aim to become a Dark Lord once more, he would name himself Lord Chaos. Doesn’t that just sound devious? But before that, he would have to find out if Lord Voldemort exists or if his birth was delayed. Oh and kill Harry Potter after that brat was born. This time he would strangle the child using Muggle means.

They made their way towards his mother’s office and settled on a sword throne. It was amazing, with real made goblin swords framing said chair. Mort had always sat in this very seat together with him whilst doing a mountain of paperwork, so he had time to scrutinize the swords. He wondered what occupation his mother and caretaker are to be doing stacks of paperwork. Daily.

“Hmmm… How about mummy’s school?” Actually, most people would let their children know how their parents met. Or who their other parent is.

“When Dumbiedork came to my orphanage at the year 1955, I was skeptic when he revealed himself as a Professor – I mean, who wears clothing that bright and mismatched? I thought that he had wanted to drag me into the looney bin. He explained and answered all my questions patiently, and I was excited by the prospect that Magic was real.”

Yes he remembered when the Transfiguration professor came as well. Even if he loathes that old fool, he could respect the power Albus has.

If only Albus was not a Muggle-loving simpleton, with his merry band of Weasels. The family was massive and if you killed one, another would appear as a replacement. They’re endless. Like cockroaches. Annoying insects.

“I fell in love with Hogwarts as soon as I lay eyes upon her. She was magnificent and I’m proud of calling her my first home.” His mother gave an upward tilt of his lips in remembrance. “I’m sure you would love her as well."

Marchosias almost scowled when he saw Marcaunon smile. He would be sure to scare off any potential lovers that crowd his mother – oh he so love making grown men cry.

Marcaunon was his, and nobody could change that.

Again he questioned from which Dark Family he came from… He looked up at his mother and squinted his eyes. Perhaps he could see if there was any Black or Lestrange blood inside his mother – the two were rumored to be insane just like Marcaunon.

What he saw almost made him reel back in shock. His mother looked like a replica of his teenage self. He was sure that he was the last of the Gaunts, apart from his uncle in this year. Sure his mother had softer and a much more feminine touch to his features, but they could pass off as twins.

Perhaps this really was an alternate universe… He needed to find out their Family name! How he wished he could talk. But alas, he gargled in frustration. He hated being a baby. They were dependent and he was ashamed at having his diapers changed.

Once he grew older, he would definitely research and try to invent an enchanted diaper that could automatically remove body waste by itself.

“Are you hungry, little one? It is indeed past your lunch time…” Marcaunon rose from his seat and made his way towards the kitchen. “I am so going to hang Mort by his toes. Does he starve my son or what?”

Marchosias heard his mother’s grumbling and snorted – still having a hard time controlling his body. His caretaker had never once missed his feeding or changing time. He was not sure if all mothers were like this, but he could make an exception for Marcaunon from his ‘ _hate-all-humanity’_ list. And perhaps Mort as well, even if Marchosias hated that cloaked-bastard’s name.

* * *

 

 _December 1961_  
_Location: Dormus Mortem_  
_Year: 7 (18 years old)_

“Zero.”

Marcaunon looked up from his paperwork as Death sauntered into his study with a curious looking Chaos in Its arms. His son had grown bigger whilst he was in Hogwarts. He wondered if Chaos had already started saying words.

He took note that Death was using the gloves that prevent him from rotting anything he touched… luckily.

Death had once lectured him on the reason as to why It had always remained in Its realm. Anything Death touched would literally rot or die within a few hours. To put the insanely long lectured into a brief summary, Death’s flesh has too much “Death Magic” and it would either make cells grow older thus rotting them, or life force being drained. In theory, Death could take a person life force, and implant it into another if he so wish to. Of course It took no heed and was too lazy to test that out.

“Mm?” He grunted distractedly.

“A big, bloodied, zero.” It repeated slowly.

“ Hmm..” Marcaunon continued to sign the Deathfiles absentmindedly. It would be Chaos’s birthday soon… What should he buy?

“Master!”

“Yess?” He arched a brow in question.

“What is this!?” It slammed a parchment in front of him and onto his documents.

He scanned the parchment and deadpanned at Death.

“My test.”

“And pray tell WHY you scored ZERO for something as basic as this? Did the grey matter your call your brain finally lose all its cells!? Have your intelligence that you so boast about left you hanging!?” He noticed his son was looking at him with disapproving ruby eyes and he felt a twitch at his brow. At least this wasn’t his N.E.W.T’s!

“Of course not. I’m just too lazy to show my genius.”

“… This is unacceptable, Master!”

“I am a busy person, Mort. With people dropping dead every minute my paperwork increases, thus resulting in my lack of sleep. How was I supposed to know that they were going to have a surprise mock test when I was dead to the world?” Yess he so love making death jokes.

“Then stop delaying the inevitable. The paperwork won’t disappear just because you pretend it doesn’t exist!”

“I’m not delaying it. Just prolonging...”

“That’s the same thing, Master!”

Marcaunon sighed. He snatched his son from Death’s arms and kissed the baby’s frowning brow. His little Chaos was just too cute!

“Master… Even if you are too lazy to show your _genius_  – as you so eloquently put it – you should at least make an effort to pass; even if it’s minimal! A zero in Ancient Runes when you practically build wards based on them…”

“Actually, I’m more of a practical than theoretical kind of guy.”

“…I will not have a Master that flunks his test due to paperwork. Manage your time properly!”

“Then perhaps you should stop delivering those abominations to me when I am in school.”

Death rubbed its temples and sighed in defeat. It turned and left, cloak billowing behind It in an eerily similar fashion to one of his previous Potion Professor. He would never admit to Death that he thought It cute for throwing such a tantrum. Perhaps he should try destroying the Deathfiles just to aggravate the being.

He snorted and flicked his wrist to close the double doors of his study.

“I pity Mort for having to put up with me sometimes.” He whispered under his breath, not noticing that the baby in his arms nodding solemnly in agreement; ruby eyes filled with sympathy in Death’s departing direction.

* * *

 

 _June 1962_  
_Location: Hogwarts_  
_Year: 7_

The seventh years were all seated in the hall, the air much tenser than when they were taking their O.W.L’s. Some were biting their quill as they try to recall the materials whilst others look extremely pale and ready to faint. Nobody made any sounds apart from the occasionally groans of frustration or gaging sounds; as if they were going to puke at any given moment.

Marcaunon hid a grin behind his hand. Whilst others were waiting for the administrators, he was thinking of home. This was the last paper before they could return to their families and he couldn’t wait to hug his beloved son.

His little Chaos had said his first words, from what his butterflies had relayed. They denied him the knowledge of what exactly was his son’s first word, but he was happy nonetheless. He hoped that it was Mama or something similar, but he squashed it down.

He knew that he was not always with his son due to school, and if Chaos was a normal baby, he would have already forgotten Marcaunon.

The double doors slammed open and most of the students flinch at how loud it was. The administrators strode in and began casting anti-cheating spells on them. He could taste how the air turned thicker with nerves.

A few more minutes passed in silence before an administrator flicked his wand and a parchment appeared on their tables. That was their cue to begin and Marcaunon scanned through it.

The questions were indeed difficult for your average seventh year, but to him it was as if taking chocolate from a baby.

He grabbed his quill and began scribbling the answers in a fast pace. He wanted to see his son – and Death as well, but he won’t admit that – as soon as possible. As usual, an administrator would stand behind him since he didn’t look to be struggling, but breezing through as if he had an answer sheet next to him.

He placed his quill down and scanned through the parchment to check for any errors or mistakes. After he confirmed that the answers were all indeed correct, he handed it to the administrator behind him and stood up. Many heads turned towards him but he ignored them and sauntered out of the hall and towards his dorm.

It was time to grab his trunk and apparate back home.

* * *

 

 _August 1962_  
_Location: Dungeons underneath Dormus Mortem_  
_Year: Graduated_

“I want Ice cream.” Marcaunon suddenly stated whilst he watched Death poke a few prisoners with Its scythe. In his arms was a toddler biting on a teething ring that was charmed to remain cool.

“I’m sure that your cravings have disappeared once that brat of yours has entered our _lives_.” It replied without turning to look when said brat made a scoffing sound.

“I have not had Ice Cream in ages.” Marcaunon turned on his heels and headed towards the exit of the dungeon. The prisoners behind him begged to be released but they were ignored as per usual. Death trailed behind him after locking the dungeon doors. “Let’s go to Florean’s Parlor.”

Death sighed and transformed into his black mamba form, much to Chaos’s shock. They had never left the house since Marcaunon was busy with paperwork whilst Death was busy reaping. Death slid onto his Master’s shoulders and rested its head atop of Chaos’s.

The toddler didn’t show signs of protest but petted the entity with his chubby fingers. Without warning or turning, Marcaunon apparated silently in mid-step, only to appear at Leaky Cauldron to continue walking as if it was a natural occurrence.

Many of the occupants in the pub stared at him in awed shock before changing to horror once they noticed a snake wrapped nicely around his shoulders and neck. A black mamba was easy to recognize and the species was indeed highly venomous, so he didn’t blame them if the people around him took a step back to get out of range.

His rose-tinted glasses glinted in the sunlight as he emerged from the pub and into Diagon Alley. He waved his butterflies off and glided towards the direction of the much awaited ice cream parlor. Death was enjoying his son’s petting and if a snake could purr, it would be purring like an engine in full blast. He was still baffled at the fact that Death could be touched by others in his snake form. 

“Excuse me!” He turned and raise a questioning brow at the stranger.

“May I help you?” The one that had called him looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen him before.

“Mar- Mr. Gaunt! I didn’t know it was you. How are you doing these days?” The stranger knows him?

“Indeed it is. I’m doing good, and you?”

“Fine, fine. Just on duty you see.”

“Duty? Ah you’re an auror! You finally gotten your dream job eh?” Marcaunon faked a chuckle whilst the guy blushed.

“Y-you remembered!” Lucky guess.

“Indeed. It was hard to forget.” Now if only he remembered who exactly this person is.

“Haha… Yeah I used to shout it out loud back then in the halls.”

“Is work treating you well enough?”

“Oh yes! What about you, Mr. Gaunt? I’ve heard from one of my friends working as a NEWTs administrator that you breezed through.”

“Well, I’m still waiting for my results.”

“Will you be working for the Ministry as well? The law department were buzzing at wanting you there.”

“We shall see. I’m still unsure about what jobs to choose…”

“I would be happy to recommend you some!” The man grinned goofily whilst eyeing Marcaunon. “I could owl you.”

“That would be much appreciated. Thank you.”

“Oh no problem at all… anything for you…” He whispered out the last part.

“It’s been a pleasure catching up, but if you’ll excuse me, I have a prior engagement to attend to.” Marcaunon smiled at him.

“Sure. Sorry for holding you up.” The still man beamed at him.

The stranger soon waved and went back to patrol with his senior. Marcaunon turned and quickly made way towards his original destination. He shrugged it off as not important and entered the store upon arrival.

He missed the way Marchosias narrowed his eyes at the stranger.

_OOOO_

“What’s got you so red faced, Sean?” The gruff Auror questioned his junior.

Said junior blushed harder, if that was even possible, before answering with a shy smile.

“I used to have a crush on him back when I was in Hogwarts. Majority of the students did.”

The older Auror raised a bushy brow. Wasn’t school meant for study not romance? “Judging by your face, you still do… Have you warned him?”

“Huh? About?”

The answer made him face palm.

“… The snake. You were supposed to warn him about it being a danger to the public.”

“AH! I forgot!”

“Clearly.” The older stated drily.

_OOOO_

“Good day, sir. Flavor?” The young man behind the counter asked with a smile.

“It is a splendid day is it not? I would like a large bowl of chocolate and hazelnut please.” Marcaunon turned to his son. “And you, young prince?”

The toddler removed his teething ring to reply.

“’ohee.”

“A small bowl of coffee flavor ice cream as well please.”

Before the young man could speak about coffee being too bitter for a toddler’s taste buds, he placed the required amount of coins on the counter and strode towards one of the empty tables. He knew that his son hated sweet food with passion.

He fondly remembered how Chaos’s nose scrunch up cutely when he took a sip of Marcaunon’s cocoa. His brain decided not to remember how his cup of cocoa was overly sweet with more sugar than chocolate content.

“ ** _Oh! Mort do you want ice cream as well?”_** He whispered to the snake.

 ** _“No, but thank you for asking, Master.”_** It replied and snuggled closer to him to gain warmth.

**_“I wonder… Little prince, do you understand me?”_ **

The toddler nodded with wide eyes and started to make hissing noises as if to test if he could speak parseltongue in his young age (what Marcaunon didn’t know was that Chaos had finally discovered why his mother’s accent was so seductive and wanted such an accent himself, it would do good as a manipulating tool). Marcaunon chuckled at the attempts and looked up when an owl carrying a Ministry letter landed in front of him.

He untied the letter and the owl flew off without prompt. Just in time as two bowls of ice cream appeared on his table.

He placed his son onto a baby high chair next to him before setting down the smaller bowl with a plastic spoon onto the mini table that was connected to the chair. Chaos grabbed the spoon with his shaky fingers and concentrated on scooping some ice cream.

Marcaunon smiled fondly at the toddler’s attempts of independence and opened the letter whilst still keeping an eye on his son.

 _Wizarding Examination Authority_  
_Ministry of Magic, Educational Division_  
_Jennifer Banks, Head Examiner_

_NASTILY EXHAUSTING WIZARDING TESTS_

_Pass Grades:_  
_Outstanding [O]_  
_Exceeds Expectations [E]_  
_Acceptable [A]_

 _Fail Grades:_  
_Poor [P]_  
_Dreadful [D]_  
_Troll [T]_

_Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt has achieved the following N.E.W.T’s:_

_Ancient Runes – O_  
_Arithmancy – O_  
_Alchemy – O_  
_Care of Magical Creatures – O_  
_Charms – O_  
_Defense Against the Dark Arts – O_  
_Herbology – O_  
_History of Magic – O_  
_Potions – O_  
_Transfiguration – O_

_**“How did you do?”** _

**_“As expected.”_**   Marcaunon replied as he took a spoonful of ice cream, moaning at the flavor in bliss.

* * *

  ** _Rainbows and Daisies,  
_****_GenderlessPerson_**

**[Revised: 14 April 2015]**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah. I forgot to mention back in chapter 2. The name Marcaunon is Sindarin, an Elvish language from LOTR, and the meaning behind that name is Ruler. The meaning behind the name of Harry is Ruler as well, and I thought that it’ll match with the other Gaunts - seeing that they all have M_R in their names. 
> 
> Hufflepuff Firsties:  
> -Pomona Sprout (Female/Pureblood)  
> -Ave & Maria Abbott (Female/First-generation Pureblood)  
> -Suzzie McQuillen (Female/Pureblood)  
> -Risa Edeson (Female/Half-blood)  
> -Arnold Walker (Male/Muggle-born)  
> -Connor Hill (Male/Muggle-born)  
> -Christopher Davies (Male/Muggle-born)  
> -Marcaunon Gaunt (Male/Pureblood)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: If I were the author of Harry Potter, Dumblekins would have chocked on a Lemon Drop and drop dead, not AK-ed. So no, I do not own Harry Potter.

**Chapter 4: Unexpected Surprises**

“Language of men”

**_“Parseltongue”_**

* * *

 

_December 1963  
Location: Hogsmeade _

The streets of Hogsmeade were crowded with students from Hogwarts. They scuttled around, pulling their friends into shops and cafes, with happy smiles on their faces. The atmosphere of the village was filled with bubbly laughter, sparkly flowers of happiness, and no doubt would be refreshing for Marcaunon… If not for his son’s constant glaring. He was imitating a basilisk apparently. It was a good attempt since the boy was wearing a black serpent onesie – it took _forever_ to force him into said outfit, nevertheless Marcaunon was nothing but persistent.

“Little one, cease your death glares this instance. Lest I force my spectacles on you.” He murmured under his breath whilst still keep up his smiling façade.

The effect was instantaneous. The narrowed eyes glare became wide with innocence as he thrust his pudgy fingers into his mouth. The display made the school girls coo at the sheer cuteness emitting from his little one.

Marcaunon could only sighed inward.

The reason for his son’s petulant attitude? The boy hated going out without Mort – in serpent form – wrapped firmly around Marcaunon's shoulders. With his servant looking (and being) deadly, most would be smart enough stay clear of them. Plus, majority of the Wizarding World was still frightened of slithery snakes in general, especially if one was considered a highly venomous one. 

Death had refused to accompany them. It had things to do, or so It says. Marcaunon sometimes had a hard time trusting anything that comes out from Its mouth. Like that one time It said that Its face was all boney and full of maggots… Which was obviously false since he had already saw what was underneath. If Marcaunon wasn’t asexual, he would’ve jumped and ravished his servant the moment Its hood was down.

It seemed that he was rambling in his thoughts. Perhaps it was a sign of insanity… He should get back on topic.

Marcaunon knew that his reputation as a friendly, loveable Hufflepuff whom gave out awesome advises (his _friend’s_ words) led to a lot of his juniors wanting to get to know him, even if it was just for a moment. And to keep up such an image; small talks and advises were required. Thus Marchosias’s current sulky attitude.

Today’s plan was to buy a cake for Marchosias (his birthday) and the boy was looking forward to his celebration – not that he outwardly showed it. Invitations were already sent, answers were received, and the only thing left was to buy a cake.

Most of the guests would be from Hufflepuff of course, including their family members. But thanks to his popularity brought by quidditch, he made a lot of minio– friends. A lot of friends from different Houses.

After graduating from Hogwarts, Marcaunon had moved entirely into a cottage at the border of Hogsmeade. The view of Hogwarts was splendid from his bed chambers, and he would usually find Marchosias sitting atop the windowsill just gazing at the magnificent castle. Often than not, he would have to carry the physically small child back to bed. He may be cold and ruthless, but he was not heartless to forbid his own son from wanting to look at Hogwarts at night – the view was simply amazing and it was their first home back in their original universe.

The cottage was actually owned by Death since the very beginning of the village, but nobody needed to know that piece of information. Most of his members had questioned him as to why he named such a lovely cottage Dormus Mortem, The House of Death. He of course had just shrugged it off and told them that the previous owner named it as such, which was true.

When he finally reached Honeydukes after making a tactical retreat – he did not run away – from the crowd with his son sitting comfortably on his hip, he let out a sigh of relief.

His nose twitched at the smell of sweetness and his sight was soon clouded with shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. He could already feel himself salivating. This was Heaven for sweet-tooths like him.

**_“Mama?”_** Marchosias’s cute high pitched hissing brought him out of his fantasies.

**_“Yess, little one?”_ **

“Why awe we hewe?” Even though his son’s mental age was that of an adult's (old man), his tongue and vocal cords were still young, thus leading to his difficulty in pronouncing proper words. If Marcaunon was a lesser man, he would’ve squealed – or blanch from hearing Minimort talk like that.

“Well, mummy has to restock his supplies.” His stocks had mysteriously vanished overnight. Death was the main suspect, but Marcaunon couldn’t think of any reason as to why the being would steal his sugar.

His son looked at him with disapproving ruby eyes.

“Youw teeth will wot one of these days.”

“And that’s where magic comes in.” He stuck his tongue out childishly whilst his son looked none too pleased at his behavior. 

“Act youw age.”

“I’m not good at imitating dust, but I’ll try just for you, my dearest.” He chuckled at his son whose nose scrunched up for a second before turning to look around nonchalantly.

Marcaunon made his way around the store, picking up bags of candies along the way to add into the bottomless cart provided at the front. Just as he was about to add in another bag of chocolate frogs, the sound of someone clearing their throat made him and his son look over his shoulder with identical brows raised in question.

“Marcaunon my boy! What a coincidence.”

“Professor Dumbledore! Indeed it is. Are you here to restock your lemon drops, sir?” Marcaunon plastered a pleasant smile on his face and pressed his son’s glaring ones into his shoulder.

Marchosias looked a little too much like mini-Tom Riddle, but with messy hair – Chaos was devastated when his hair stubbornly remained disorderly. He remembered howling with laughter at the look Marchosias sprouted, like it was the end of the world.

The old man’s eyes zoomed towards his little Chaos.

“Indeed my sherbet lemons have all been used up! My, what a handsome young man! Your little brother?”

“Your addiction to lemons even exceeds my own to chocolate, Professor. And no, this is my son.” This made the smile on the old man’s face strained.

“Adoption?”

“We look too alike for adoption, Headmaster.” And blood adoption was illegal by law by the way. He had never wanted so much as to shove a giant wand up the Minister’s arse for making such a dumb rule. The guy should have known that Purebloods sometimes could not produce an heir, and blood adoption was the only way to continue their bloodline -and to keep their population up. But alas, the Ministry was made out of Light, bigoted Wizards, thinking that blood adoption was abnormal due to the Mudblood's influences. 

“Isn’t he a little too old…?”

Marcaunon stroked his son’s hair in an almost rueful manner whilst schooling his face into one of contrite, but not too much regret, and a tinge of happiness. It took him weeks (forcing himself to ignore Death’s offensive  _commentaries_ ) of looking into the mirror trying to perfect this expression.

“Indeed he is…”

The old man seemed to understand – what he did, Marcaunon didn’t know – something and patted Marcaunon’s shoulder in sympathy.

“If you are in need of any help, you can always come to me, dear child. My doors are always open.”

“I could never intrude on you, Professor!”

“Of course not! And please call me Albus. You have already graduated, with the highest score at that!” The old man laughed joyously, a hint of pride in those twinkling blue eyes of his.

“Yess, thank you Prof–Albus.” He gave a grateful smile.

The meddler turned towards Marchosias and smiled brightly, giving him an image of being a kind, gentle grandfather. 

“May I ask for your name, young man?”

“What’s youws?” The boy countered childishly. Marcaunon almost tsked at his cheek.

The man just chuckled and pinched the boy’s cheek, much to said boy’s chagrin.

“Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

“Mawchosias Gaunt, fouw yeaws old.”

“It’s nice to meet you, little one!” The headmaster cheered. The blue eyes scrutinized Marchosias and Marcaunon almost wanted to hide his boy. “You look adorable in that… outfit. A snake?”

“Yess. Papa bought it fow me.” It was said petulantly.

Marcaunon grinned and flicked one of the stuffed fangs inside the hood. He couldn’t resist the temptation of buying some animal hoodies and forcing his boy into them. It was perfect blackmail material for when Marchosias was older!

“Your papa has interesting taste.” He turned towards Marcaunon and questioned. “What have you been up to these days, my dear boy? A ministry job?”

Marcaunon chuckled and shook his head softly, his feather-like raven hair fluttering around before settling down to frame his face.

“The year has been kind to me, but I am unemployed at the moment.”

“Oh? An excellent student such as yourself is currently unemployed?” There was a note of curiosity in the meddler’s voice. Marcaunon knew that he had scored the highest of his year and was awarded for it. Many have indeed owl him, especially the Ministry, to work for them.

“I have always been interested in Potions… and have entered a Potions’ Guild to obtain my Potions’ Master qualification certificate.” He informed slowly and dropped the bag of chocolate frogs into his cart.

The old goat moved together with him and they stopped just as they reached the shabelot lemon candy container. Both Marcaunon and Dimpledick grabbed a few handfuls of lemon drops to add into their respective carts.

As much as he hated the old goat, he sometimes craved sour sweets whilst he worked on Deathfiles. Lemon drops were something that would not ruin his work if he were to accidentally knock the bowl down.

“Which guild did you enter, my boy?”

“Cauldron Fever, sir.”

“Hmm…” Dimpledog tugged on his beard in thought. “I heard much about them. They have indeed produced excellent Masters! Why, Horace himself came from the very same guild!”

“So I’ve heard. Professor Slughorn was the one who introduced and recommended me to the guild.”

“I’m sure he did. How are you fairing? Is everyone treating your well? Have you come to know many Potions' Masters?”

They moved onto another shelf filled with all type of marshmallows and Marcaunon grabbed each one of them, much to the old man’s amusement and Marchosias’s distaste. Marchosias had regained control of his anger at the old man’s company and did his best to acting shy around strangers.  

“And perhaps you could recommend a Master –“

“Pardon me, Professor Dumbledore sir.” The owner of Honeydukes interrupted the Headmaster. The old man looked irritated underneath his grandfatherly smile. Good! “Got a letter fer Marcaunon here.”

Mr. Flume handed the letter with the guild’s emblem (a dark blue cauldron surrounded by green fire) and walked back to the counter after Marcaunon thanked him. Both the Headmaster and he had a curious expression on their faces. Marcaunon looked at his son with an apologetic expression and turned towards the Headmaster.

“Forgive me Albus, but will you hold him for me?” Marchosias’s ruby red eyes widen in horror and the look of betrayal on such a young face almost made Marcaunon broke out in laughter. Almost. No need to antagonize his little Chaos any further. And boy, he could hold a grudge.

The old goat was oblivious to Marchosias unease and was quick to agree with a wide smile on his wrinkly face, his love for children showing through his eyes. He handed his son –which was squirming to get free– over and carefully opened the letter.

_P.M.A.A.T.  
Final Grade: 3_

_ _

_(Potions’ Master Advanced Aptitude Test)_

_Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt_

_~-~_

_This is to certify that you have passed P.M.A.A.T. Grade 3 and have been awarded the classification of:_

_OUTSTANDING_

_~-~_

_You have passed the final and most difficult P.M.A.A.T. and are to be highly commended. Many of your fellow candidates were less than fortunate. Your new qualification will stand you in good stead should you wish to join any of the Wizarding World’s Potions’ Master positions. Congratulations._

_Test taken on:  
01/11/63_

_Member Identification Number:  
M13-1-18-3_

_Jellal F. Frost  
_  
  
_Cauldron Fever Guild Master_

Marcaunon stared at it for a minute in shock whilst the old man and his son looked over his shoulder.

“Oh my! It only took you a year to complete all three tests? I commend you! Most would take years just to pass even the first.” The Headmaster exclaimed in surprise before he beamed at Marcaunon, joy and pride radiating from him. His eyes were twinkling like mad and Marcaunon hid a frown. It was suspicious.

Marchosias’s eyes widened before they looked towards him with satisfaction, confidence and pride. Marcaunon snatched his son from the old man’s winkled arms and hugged the child to his chest. His face broke into a grin and he twirled them both around.

“I did it!” He cheered and kissed his son’s forehead in happiness, not minding that the other occupants of the store were staring strangely at them.

Marchosias giggled together with him. The proud boy would venomously deny it later though. His mood was broken when his shoulder was patted by a winkled hand, though he didn’t show it. He smiled towards Dumiespore.

“Congratulations, my boy! That reminds me… Horace had asked that he retire early due to some unforeseen circumstances just the other day. I was on my way towards a Potions’ Guild to find a replacement after restocking… but…” The blue twinkles in his eyes brightened. “Would you like to apply for the job of Potions’ Master at Hogwarts?”

Marcaunon pretended to think for a moment and looked at the Headmaster insecurely.

“Sir… As much I would love to accept your job offer, I can’t possibly leave my son unattended to work at Hogwarts.” He frowned and brushed a few strands from Marchosias’s face.

“Fear not, my boy. I’m sure I could make an exception and allow both of you to live in the Castle.”

Marcaunon schooled his face to one of surprise before smiling gratefully at the old man.

“Then… When will I have to drop by for an interview?”

“Are we not having one this very moment?”

“Indeed we certainly are.”

They both chuckled and continued to converse whilst Marcaunon resumed his candy dropping into his cart. After buying almost all the candy in the store, they both paid for their purchases and head towards the cake shop.

Since the Headmaster’s schedule was empty, he offered to accompany Marcaunon to the cake shop. Not having any reason to deny, he nodded and after a few more minutes of trying to find his way out, he gave up.

For a bloody Gryffindor, Dumbles sure knew how to slither in (get it? Slytherin... well nevermind) his way into people’s business. Marcaunon had no choice but to invite his employer to his son’s birthday party, much to Marchosias’s horror.

After reaching their little cottage, the Headmaster helped him finish his last minute decorations whilst they waited for the others to arrive. Marchosias continued to sulk and sauntered – very much like him – into the library to ignore the old man’s presence.

The guests soon arrived and the Headmaster seemed surprised to see that there were not only Hufflepuffs invited, but Ravenclaw, Gryffindor and Slytherin as well. Some of his guests brought their young ones with them, and were sent to play with Marchosias.

Marcaunon knew that his son always dreaded _playtime_ (and playdates with other kids) but showed politeness that made the adults and graduates compliment on how his son was so much like his father - so polite and friendly. They thought that young Chaos would be sorted in Hufflepuff when he reached eleven, but Marcaunon knew otherwise. No matter what his son’s name was currently, he would always have Tom Riddle’s pride of being a Slytherin’s decendant and was always ambitious beyond belief. Too ambitious and cunning for any other Houses. 

Marcaunon would support whatever his son’s decision would be, even if their plans for the future were different. He would try to improvise and formulate another if their ideas clash, no matter what. He knew that in the future, the current Tom Riddle – Lord Voldemort – would find out about him and his son.

He would not know if they would be captured or forced to join the Dark Lord or given permission to make their own decision, but they would never be left alone. Tom Riddle in his original world had always wanted another speaker to converse with – not that he openly admitted it, but since they had a mental connection it was quite obvious. That was one of the reasons as to why Voldemort always demanded Harry Potter to join him.

The thought almost made him grimace in distaste. He hoped that Voldemort would not feel his position as the Dark Lord being threatened. As much as he didn’t want to kill Voldemort, he would be forced to if his son’s life was threatened.

The party went by smoothly with Marchosias receiving a lot of presents. His son was looking at him with barely hidden disappointment when Marcaunon failed to present him a gift. Marcaunon hid a smile behind his cup of cocoa. No matter how much the boy acted irritated by his childish behavior, Marcaunon knew that he cared.

The day finally turned to night and soon, their guests had left. He turned towards his son.

**_“Happy Birthday, love.”_** He swept his little boy into his arms and kissed both of Marchosias’s chubby cheeks.

**_“Thank you, Mama.”_ **

**_“Happy Birthday, young Lord.”_** Death appeared suddenly, making said birthday boy jump in surprise.

**_“Young Lord? Well, he certainly acts like a one.”_** Marcaunon chuckled whilst his boy glared at him in annoyance at having unintentionally called him a spoil brat. 

**_“Thank you, Mowt. Whewe have you been?”_ **

**_“Here and there. I brought you a gift.”_** Death took out a wrapped box from within its cloak and placed them into Marchosias’s palm. It exited the living room, but not before hearing Its godson’s soft expression of gratitude.

**_“Open it open it! Mort has always brought the most interesting  of things back home.”_** Marcaunon demanded childishly.

His son was without a doubt, mentally rolling his eyes at Marcaunon's eagerness, but complied nonetheless. Inside was a beautifully crafted silver pocket watch with ruby stones forming a triangle, circle and a straight vertical line in the middle behind. It was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. Marchosias’s chubby digits traced the symbol with feather like touches and looked at him in askance.

“ ** _What does this mean? This symbol..?”_**

**_“It’s Mort’s mark... I can sense layers of protection spells placed there, so it would be wise to have it on your person at all times.”_ **

Marchosias slipped the watch into one of his inner pockets. Marcaunon had to wonder if onesies came with pockets, or that Chaos had made them himself. 

**_“Mowt’s symbol?”_ **

**_“Yess, Mort’s._ **

**_“His family’s?”_ **

**_"In a way."_** Marcaunon gave his son a mysterious smile and stood up. " ** _Here’s my gift to you.”_** He handed a box to his son. It was opened without prompt.

On the inside was an onyx pendant held by a silver dragon claw, with a skull on top [1]. There were squiggly lines engraved on the stone and Marchosias looked towards him for an explanation. Marcaunon chuckled.

**_“The protection runes are written in Parselrunes.”_**  He explained in his lecture voice. **_“When we speak in Parseltongue and imbue magic into our words, they become Parselmagic. From this concept, I thought that if we could invoke magic just by using words, why not write them? Unlike normal Parselscripts that could be used as coded messages to other Speakers, Parselrunes are meant for creating wards, runes and charms. When you’re older, I’ll bring you to see the Ward Stones protecting this cottage. Perhaps you could understand better with practical rather than theory.”_**

Marchosias scowled and Marcaunon just knew that his boy was thinking about how he’s actually more than seventy years old, stuck inside a body of a child.

**_“Patience sweetie.”_** He winked at his son and kissed him on the forehead. **_“Now off to bed, I’m sure you’re tired from such an exhausting day.”_**

Marchosias nodded and stood up to hug him, much to his surprise.

**_“Thank you, Mama.”_ **

**_“You’re very much welcome, my dearest.”_** Marcaunon whispered and closed his eyes in contentment.

* * *

 

_Location: Hogwarts_

Just the previous day, Marcaunon had questioned his loyal servant of Its method on dealing with his previous Potions’ Professor. He still marveled at the fact that Death – that bloody workaholic – would take a day off to arrange everything for him. Even though his question was unanswered, he would not look a gift in a thestral’s mouth.

Both he and his son looked vacantly at the giant looming gate of Hogwarts with an air of impatience.

“Remember to be on your best behavior.” The scarlet eyed teen turned towards the child sitting comfortably on his hip. “And to speak properly, for you can never know who would be listening.”

The ruby eyed child gave a small nod and rested his head on Marcaunon’s shoulder. They were waiting for the Headmaster and the elder of the two almost snapped at how late the old man was. Did the fool not know that time was precious – especially his?

Marcaunon turned his head to the direction of where a powerful Light magical signature came from and was rewarded with blinding neon orange and pink. He hissed under his breathe and could feel how his son scrunched up his nose in distaste as the child hid his face into Marcaunon’s robe.

The teen gave the eccentric old man a closed-eyed smile and prayed that he could hopefully convince said old man to change – burn – his wardrobe in the near future. He would not want his and his son’s retina to be incinerated by those things the old man called clothing. 

“Marcaunon my boy! Forgive an old man’s lateness. Hagrid – you remember him don’t you? – was in need of convincing that… babying dangerous creatures was not something to do. Almost poisoned in fact!” The Headmaster greeted with twinkling blue eyes.

“No problem, Albus. The sight of Hogwarts is something to admire. Is Hagrid alright?” He asked in _concern_.

Dumpodour waved his concerns off with a bright smile.

“No worries, it would take more than a three-headed snake to bring down the big fella. Now let us be on our way!”

He lifted an elegant brow and hid his amusement when his mind brought an image of their friendly resident half-giant snuggling a poor runespoor whilst making cute babying sounds. Perhaps he should introduce his little Chaos to some of Hagrid’s… pets.   

They were led inside the castle and Marcaunon was unable to hold a small smile from appearing on his lips. He had missed his first true home. He whispered to his son about the hidden corridors, portraits and statues within the castle, with Dumbodie adding his fair share.

The threesome soon arrived within the dungeons and stopped in front of a portrait of a pale, black haired man with dark green eyes and a large green serpent coiled around his shoulders. It hissed profanities at them and Marchosias let out a bell-like giggle when said snake kept insulting the Headmaster.

“You may change the password afterwards, but for now; Potions.”

They entered the moderate sized room, with walls covered in earthly green and black. The room was furnished, and linked with three additional doors. The headmaster clarified that the black door leads to his personal potion’s lab, the green door to his and his son’s bedchambers, and the brown door to his personal study. After setting his son on an armchair near the fireplace, he took a look around – noticing the map of Hogwarts atop said fireplace that shows the layout of the dungeons.

He soon entered the green door to place both his and his son’s shrunken trunks inside and promised himself to unpack after dinner. He closed the door and made his way towards the fireplace where Albus was smiling at the squirming child on his lap. He grimaced and shot the boy a pitying look.

“Is this place to your liking?”

“It is, thank you.”

Marchosias hopped off the old man’s lap in relief and waddled towards Marcaunon with his arms outstretched. He snatched the boy from the floor and placed the grimacing child onto his hip.

Soon they were on their way to the Great Hall for dinner, after visiting his future classroom and shown the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

_OOOO_

The students in the hall were whispering to one another, the upper years clearly recognizing Marcaunon whilst the lower years listen to their senior’s story about him. Dumiepoo ushered him next to his own seat on the left.

Marcaunon took it with a polite nod and placed his son on his lap. The Headmaster soon introduced the professors and explained that Marchosias would be staying together with him, since he was a single father.

Some of the Professors looked at him with disdained. They probably thought that he had knocked up some poor girl.

Dumbles continued to instruct him on what his duties were (brewing Potions for the Medi-witch when her stocks are halved), explaining as to why he became the Head of the House for Slytherin (tradition for Potion Masters to become one) and if he wanted, bring Marchosias to his classes. But only if Marchosias kept away from boiling cauldrons, dangerous ingredients, and the such – not that his son would be foolish enough to endanger his own life, too much self-preservation. 

The feast soon began after the Headmaster had made his announcements. The professors conversed softly, mostly about how young or uncontrolled he was to be having a son at such an age. Marcaunon had to grit his teeth to refrain his magic from lashing out when one of them called Marchosias a bastard child.

“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Gaunt.” McGonagall said. Her eyes softened as she looked at both of them.

“Likewise, Professor McGonagall.”

“Please, call me Minerva. We’re co-workers now, are we not?”

“Then Marcaunon to you, Minerva.”

“For me as well, Marcaunon. If you would allow me to?” A squeaky voice said and he turned towards the half goblin.

“Of course, Filius. May I introduce you both to my son, Marchosias? Greet the Professors little one.”

“Salutations.” Marchosias said distractively as he struggled to scoop some beans.

“My… What a clever boy. Much like you, Marcaunon.”

“Thank you Filius. Marchosias loves reading so perhaps he would end up in your House in the future.”

“Oh I can’t wait! A Raven in the making hm?”

Marcaunon chuckled at the half-goblin’s excitement as he questioned little Chaos on the books he had read.

“May I ask… where his mother is?” McGonagall asked softly, as if to not want his boy to hear. It was a futile attempt since Marchosias unconsciously tilted his head in her direction – he would have to fix that habit soon. He could see there was only curiosity and he unintentionally grimaced as he remembered how Charlie had Obliviated him after they had… exercised.  

Marchosias had a dark look on his face when he spotted Marcaunon’s grimace.

“Alive if you’re wondering. She… doesn’t want him.”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to bring it up…”

Marcaunon shook his head to the woman and smiled at her. They continued their small talk whilst they ate, and he noticed how the others apart from McGonagall and Flitwick glared at him. He could practically taste their jealousy and disgust.

“Albus?”

“Yes, my boy?” The wrinkled old man raised an eyebrow in question.

“Is it possible to have a high-chair next to mine in the future? As well as a plastic spork?”

“Of course it is. I’ll be sure to inform the elves.”

Marcaunon thanked the Headmaster and patted his son’s fluffy hair. Now that he had his dream job – and a first row seat to watching Dumbledork squirm in the future fight with Voldemort – he was content for the time being.

* * *

 

_Location: Hogwarts, Potion’s Classroom_

Marchosias was sitting on his mother’s desk in the Potion’s classroom, waiting for the students to finish their breakfast to attend. He looked up from one of his mother’s potion tomes when he heard the door slamming open.

The high and childish voices of eleven year olds were heard through the door and soon, they started heading towards a random seat. After much time, they finally noticed him sitting on their professor’s desk, staring at them with unnerving ruby red eyes.

He questioned why his eyes were red once, but Marcaunon only wrinkled his nose and told him it was genes.

He noticed that this class was filled with all four Houses. Perhaps this year’s first year had too little numbers to be separated into two houses each. Getting annoyed at their constant bickering over useless books and subjects, he closed his book; leading to a deafening silence heard after a loud bang when more than a thousand pages became pressed together.

“It would be pwoductive if you tuwn to page five and wead whilst waiting.”

Majority of the class made cute cooing sounds at him, whilst the others lifted their noses to look down on him. He did not appreciate that one bit. Just as he was about to give them a very thoroughly tongue lashing, he halt and remembered Marcaunon telling him about acting his age – and most kids don’t read dictionaries just because they were bored.

Sometimes he wondered if Marcaunon was oblivious and ignorant about children or he just didn’t care about Marchosias’s adult-like behavior. 

He ignored them in favor of reading the tome on his lap, not minding that it was half his size and dwarfed him cutely.

The door slammed open and he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at how his mother made his cloak billow dramatically. He could see how everyone’s eyes were trailing after Marcaunon, and he could not fault them. His mother’s presence always demanded attention even without words.

Marcaunon stood before the class, hand behind and back straight. Looking like a perfect pureblood Lord rather than a mere Potion’s Professor.

“My name is Marcaunon Gaunt, and the child sitting on my desk is my son, Marchosias Gaunt. Due to some circumstances that are not any of your concerns, he will be accompanying me in future lessons…” His mother scrutinized them and smiled softly. “Keep your wands as there will be no wand waving or incantations in this class.”

Some of them hesitated, but was quick to keep them when Marcaunon’s smile became sweeter. Yes, his mother had a dangerous smile that he often used when Marchosias was stubborn. He looked intimidating without his rose-tinted glasses to hide those beautiful yet deadly scarlet red eyes.

Perhaps he should flush those hideous things down the toilet just to prevent Marcaunon from wearing them once more.

“I am well aware that you have already… been taught by your previous professor, Horace Slughorn. My methods and his differ. We will begin from the beginning, and I assure you that you will not fall behind.” Marcaunon assured them as some Ravens began to protest. They were silenced with a look.

“I know for a fact that many of you would prefer waving your wands to making potions… Since only complicated ones would require Magic. As such, it is understandable that majority do not appreciate the exact art of potions making. However for those… few… who possess the predisposition…” His voice became hard, and most of the students held their breath. Some even shivered at the passionate look his mother’s eyes were sporting. “I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses.”

Marchosias saw his mother cross his arms and lean on the desk, just beside him, completely relaxed. The children were waiting for him to continue with eagerness. A complete one eighty from their bored expressions before.

“I can tell you how to bottle fame… brew glory and even put a stopper in death…” The scarlet eyes lit up and Marchosias could hear some of the girls sighing their love sick sighs that he often heard when taking a stroll with his mother outside their home. It was disturbing seeing eleven year old swoon like that.  “But then again… Can someone please wake her up? Yess, the girl at the back.”

The closed-eye smiled was deadly and Marchosias shivered in remembrance.  

Most of the class turned to one Slytherin girl that was yawning and rubbing her eyes, as if she had just woken from a short nap. The person beside the girl nudged her arm and she startled into focus.

“Miss…?” Marcaunon asked slowly as he stared directly at her.

“Black. Bellatrix Black.” The girl with wayward brown curls sneered at his mother, throwing her name around as if it was the most important thing in the world. 

Marchosias looked at her in interest. He remembered the insane witch that he had taught once upon a time. He now had the opportunity to see, first hand, how she grew into being one of the best duelers in his circle of followers.

“Tell me Ms. Black… Perhaps you have come to Hogwarts in possession of ability so formidable that you are confident enough to answer some of my questions… since you were obviously not paying attention?” Marcaunon questioned softly, his smile innocent.

“Go ahead.” She sniffed haughtily with her nose held up high. “ _Sir_.”

“What would I get if I added powdered rooted Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?” Marchosias almost snorted out loud. That was sixth year material if his eidetic memory served him right.

The students looked flabbergasted and even the Ravens don’t seem confident enough to answer. Bella shook her head with a scowl.

“You don’t know? Well, let us try once more. Where… Ms. Black would you look at if I asked to find me a bezoar?” If Bella was smart enough to read before class, she would know – it was on page five – that the answer was clearly printed there.

Once again, the foolish girl shook her head, her face going red in anger. Marchosias wondered if the reason why she was captured and shoved into Azkaban for thirteen years was because of her pride of her being superior to those with _dirty_ - _blood_.

In his four years of reincarnated life, he had learned that blood wasn’t everything thanks to his mother. He had been in denial first, but then thought back to how the strongest wizards were always Half-bloods. Albus Dumbledore (as much as he hated to admit it), Harry Potter… And him, Tom Riddle.

Marcaunon gave him a book once to prove that new blood was required and Purebloods should stop fucking their close cousins/sisters/brothers (his mother’s words, not his). Marchosias snapped back into focus as Marcaunon questioned Bella once more.

“And what is the difference between Wolfbane and Monkshood?” They’re one and the same… Clearly her dueling skills came from practical and not theoretical.

Yet again, she shook her head. This time her face turned an ugly shade of purple, almost as she was about to explode. Judging from his mother’s sadistic – yet hidden – smile, he knew exactly what would happen after he spoke the next sentence.

“Pity. Clearly blood isn’t everything… Is it… Ms. _Black_?” The way Marcaunon spoke the word Black was mocking and Marchosias had to bite back a giggle.

“You dare!?” She screeched. “You filthy…! Says the Mudblood who knocked up a girl. She probably dumped her son on you since he’s a filthy burden. Clearly we can all see how he has come from the wedlock.” If he wasn’t feeling homicidal right now, he would have been amused at how an eleven year old girl knows what knocked up means. 

Alas, he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from snarling right there and then. Before his mother could retort (oh he could see how Marcaunon’s eyes burned), he had already jumped down the high desk and stalked towards the young and so very foolish Bella. He dragged a stool, not minding that the noise made most of the students cringe, in front of the girl’s desk and stood on it. He glared at her.

“Fow youw infowmation… Miss _Black_.” He hissed, forgetting that he was not a Dark Lord, but just a child of four winters. “Asphodel and Wowmwood makes sleeping potion so powewful it is known as the Dwaught of the Living Dead. A bezoaw is a stone taken fwom the stomach of a goat, which would save you fwom most poisons. Though I highly doubt that you awe smawt enough to wecognize the telltale signs of being poisoned.”

He did not notice how Marcaunon’s eyes glinted in pride, nor how the students gap at him in astonishment.

“As fow Monkshood and Wolfsbane, they awe the same plant which also goes by the name of Aconite.” He mocked the bristling girl in front of him as he jumped down from the stool. “Oh and insulting a fellow puweblood? Foolish giwl.” He hoped that he was pureblood, since his father was still unknown to him. And he doubted that Marcaunon would ever willingly become intimate with a Muggle – Parasite by his mother’s dictionary.

Bella screeched and jumped over the table, her hands shot out towards his neck and he stumbled back, his child side wanting to cry out for his mother whilst the adult part snarled at her daring move.

Before she could even reach him however, she was forced back onto her seat and silenced without even a word. He heard his mother moving and stalked towards him. As he reached near, he was placed on the desk and Marcaunon turned towards the class once again.

“Well… Why aren’t you all copying this down?” The class went into motion and Marcaunon narrowed his eyes at Bella. His mother was furious and he could see how deadly his closed-eye smile was becoming.

How he wished he was older so he could Crucio that bitch into oblivion. Even with his prowess in wandless, he was not at the level of throwing Unforgivables without a wand at this age.

“And Slytherins… Note that fifty points will be taken from your House due to your classmate’s… cheek… disrespect… and attempted assault.”

The Slytherins glared at Bella whilst they continued to write down what Marchosias had explained. The board soon had his mother’s familiar cursive writing, instructions to be followed by expected time.

As soon as they had placed down their quills, Marcaunon begin to explain the ingredient’s attribute, the reasons as to why said ingredient was needed, and how to properly brew the potion step by step.

Some Ravenclaws were promptly shot down after they tried to correct Marcaunon’s teaching, saying that the book wrote otherwise. Even if his mother had an infinity amount of patience for Marchosias and Mort, he was snappish and positively rude when his methods were being questioned just because it was not written inside the school book.

Marchosias snorted. How his mother was sorted into Hufflepuff was beyond him. He was clearly a Slytherin.  

* * *

 

_Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon’s study_

“Death?” Marcaunon whispered out as he continued to stare at the documents spread out on his desk.

“You called, Master?” Was the carefree reply as the entity appeared without Its cloak. It was wearing dark colored Parasite clothing (shirt and jeans), and Marcaunon stared gobsmacked.

“… What are you wearing?”

“It’s obvious isn’t it?”

“I mean… Why in Merlin’s saggy testicles are you wearing _that_?”

“I was taking a walk in the park. Weekends are supposed to be relaxing is it not?”

“… Forget it. I called you here not to question what wear on your free time, but about this.”

He pointed at the parchments and stared at Death in enquiry. It picked a few up to read and raised an elegant brow at Marcaunon. Its Avada eyes glowing with question.

“There’s nothing wrong with these documents.”

“Well… Yeah… But I’m wondering why I would always get twins in one folder, even if they were to expire on separate dates. The documents say that this one, Alice, died nine years ago, and her twin died just a few hours ago. Why do I receive Alice’s documents nine years later?”

 “Ah. As you know, Master, Deathfiles are for you to judge which soul goes to where, am I right?”

“Yess…?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“A statement of course.”

“If you say so, Master. Twins are Natural Horcrux.”

“… I beg your pardon? It seems that my hearing is failing me in my old age… I thought I heard you say that twins are _Horcrux_.”

“Natural Horcrux," Death correctly. "but yes you've heard correctly, though if you insist that your hearing is –“

“I get it! I really wonder why you would insult your own Master sometimes.”

“Shall I explain then?”

“Yess, please. What do you mean by Natural Horcrux?”

“First, let me explain about twins. They are literally one soul with two bodies. The soul splits exactly in half, before they enter their respective bodies that were meant for them when they’re inside their bearer. To answer your first question; twins or triplets or any that come from the same womb, will always share a soul, thus leading them to have the same Deathfile no matter if one were to die earlier than the other.”

“So… If Twin A were to die a minute after birth, the soul would still be here? But won’t that mean that due to Twin B, Twin A could come back to life? I have never heard of twins being immortal.”

“That’s why they’re called _Natural_ Horcrux. They will still die due to severe injury or old age, and they have no option in controlling their spirit’s movement until their counterpart dies.”

“Will that mean that Twin B can’t bring Twin A back to life?”

“Exactly. Since to create a Horcrux using Soul Magic, the person would need to perform a ritual. This ritual will prevent the vessel from dying from natural causes, and allow them control over their spirit. The person whom has done this ritual could possess a person and create a new body from scratch.”

“Ah I get it. To put it simply, a Natural Horcrux is a soul split into pieces because they have two or more bodies made from their mother, but unable to resurrect the other(s) if one were to die, whilst ritual Horcrux is… well, the Horcrux Voldy used to assure his immortality.”

“Yes. This is the reason as to why twins would often than not have mental connections; they can talk to their counterpart or feel what the other is feeling. I’m sure you know what I’m speaking of, Master, since you yourself used to have a mental connection with Tom Riddle… Do you still have it?”

“Yess actually. Did you forget that Tom’s soul was with me for seventeen years? A very small portion of his soul was merged with mine, and if it were to have more than seventeen years back then, Tom and I would have…”

“Indeed… I have watched as you cried yourself to sleep each night after killing your soul-brother, Master. You never stopped grieving for him even after a century has passed. He was the only one you still remember with clarity.”

“This is making me depress… Even though I logically know that there are two Tom Riddles running around (Dumbles would have a heart attack if he knew)… And one of them knows that I killed him. If Tom… No, Marchosias ever found out… If he were to look at me with hatred in his eyes, I could never stand it.”

“Master…”

“Look at me now, Death. Love has made me weak. Ever since Chaos came, I have shown more emotions than I would have liked. One day, he would leave me. One day he would die. I… Even thinking about it…” Marcaunon choked on a sob. Death was the only one who would never laugh at his show of weakness.

Death pulled him into a hug and Marcaunon buried his face into Its chest. His arms wrapped around Death’s middle whilst Its hands were stroking through his unkempt hair.

“Shhh… It’s alright Master. I may not be able to prevent him from dying, but I can be sure to extend his lifespan.”

“But the balance…”

“Nicolas Flamel lived up to six hundred years of age with the damn stone. I believe another person would not matter.”

“He won’t die of old age…?”

“Never, Master. But he will die when fatally wounded.”

“I’ll protect him.”

“As will I, Master. I will not be much of help since if I kill too much, the balance would be disrupted, but I will watch him as I have watched you.”

Marcaunon chuckled weakly and tilted his head to stare into those beautiful emerald eyes, his chin resting on Its strong chest. Sometimes he hated not being able to reach Death’s shoulders with his height.

“Let us avoid this topic in the future. Having a breakdown at my age is beyond embarrassing.”

“As you wish, Master. Now you know why twins are placed into one folder, no matter if one were to die before another.”

“Yeah… Will you head back?” He pushed himself away from the entity reluctantly and stood with his back straight.

“Yes. If that’s all Master?” Asked Death as It wiped some of his tears that were on his cheeks with Its long fingers.

Marcaunon nodded and Death vanished into the shadows. He smiled softly as a few butterflies landed on his person, and whispered to the empty room.

“Thank you, Mort, my dearest companion.”

* * *

**_Rainbows and Unicorns,_ **  
**_GenderlessPerson_ **

 [1] 

_**[Revised: 17 May 2015]** _


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Snakes and Therapy**

“Speaking”

**_“Parseltongue”_ **

_‘Mental telepathy’_

**“Spells”**

* * *

_1964  
Location: Knockturn Alley_

It has been a tiring year since he had started his career in teaching. Many of the students had doubts about his skills and knowledge when he first started. He was nineteen and the youngest Professor to ever been hired into Hogwarts. Of course they were worried, especially the fifth and seventh years. But soon they began to soften and treat him like any other Professor.

He was not really worried about gaining their approval, time was on his side and he was planning on sticking long enough to witness Voldemort’s rise and fall. Also, he was very tempted to let it all play out until Quirrell comes into picture. He wanted the stone so badly, since even with all the knowledge he had gained, Flamel never left any notes behind for him to study or make a new one.

On another note, Marcaunon was slightly worried about his physical appearance. His body would not grow older than it already is and he would be stuck at the constant age of teenhood. It was hard enough to pass as someone in their twenties, and he was highly insulted when a neighbour of his had pointed out that he looked more like a sixteen year old boy than a thirty year old man back then. Curse the Dursleys. Oh yes he would curse them to hell and back for their constant period of starvation.

Anyway, he digressed… His mind would always wonder off topic at random moments…

People would ask questions as to why he was not aging, and he didn’t want to be experimented on Unspeakables. Once was more than enough. There was of course the simple solution of using glamours, but the Headmaster had asked –demanded– him to stick to his current ones and prevent from adding any more.

Marcaunon had found out quite literally that Dumbie’s lenses have anti-glamour charms placed on them, similar to Moody’s eye but less powerful and unable to detect polyjuice. He was able to use his silver tongue against the Headmaster, lying that he was ashamed of his scars, to allow them to be covered, but that was all. The only reason he was able to hide his pregnancy from the nosy old man was because Death Itself had intervene. 

So no, he could not apply glamours to help him age physically (he despised being dependant of Death). He could of course cook up a story about his genes being awesome and all since Marchosias would stop aging as well – though he was unsure when.

Moving on from his appearance, he had a few run ins with his Slytherins, since he was originally from Hufflepuff. It only lasted a day before he stormed into their common room and let loose his magic on them. The snakes were brought to their knees – quite literally – and not one person had questioned him after that. There were looks of awe, respect and fear, but mostly the Snakes and him had good student-teacher relationship.

All in all, he thought highly of his work. But as much as he enjoys teaching and guiding children to their full potential, he had countless sleepless nights due to this job. Ever since his physical body had reached four summers, Marcaunon had hated all type of paperwork.

He had blessed whoever created the almighty Pepperup potion after a week of all-nighters. Sometimes he wondered why he assigned homework to those ungrateful brats he called students. All he received back from them were unidentified scribbles. Majority of their handwriting were worse than chicken scratches, and he had forced them all into detention just to teach them how to properly use a quill – especially the Mudbloods.

After Dumb-ass-whore found out what he was making the students do in detention, he had created a Calligraphy Club with Marcaunon as the person in charge – not by choice mind you. His workload was too much even for him and he sometimes was forced by his faithful servant to rest whilst It substitute for him. Death should've just did his paperworks for him, that bastard. 

His days would usual consist of teaching incautious students how to _not_ blow up a cauldron in the mornings, a few breaks in between for some grub, and sitting in the library at the afternoon as students tend to search him out to ask some potion questions – especially the fifth and seventh years.

Those are only for his day time. On evenings, he would patrol the dungeons until midnight, before heading back to his chambers and making teaching plans for the next day – let us not forget about grading essays from all his yearly students. Deathfiles soon came afterwards and if a lot of people died that day, he would be up until breakfast. He would be lucky if less than a thousand died for a day. Unlikely, but one could only hope.   

Marcaunon’s only free day was on Sundays, since club activities are on Saturday and there were too many students so he had to split them into four different time slots to even the group. This took the whole of his Saturday and he bemoaned at the loss of one of his rest-day.

He was now on his way to finding a pet shop since he felt bad for neglecting his adorable boy. With his filled schedule, he only had one out of seven days to be with Marchosias. He made absolute sure that he would be there with his little one every Sunday, no matter what.

Marcaunon didn’t want their relationship to suffer so he had always tried hard to find time to sit down and talk for a minimum of half an hour daily. Sometimes he was too busy and tend to unintentionally ignore his Chaos even when his little one tried to gain his attention.

A pet, or familiar would keep his boy company whilst Marcaunon was busy and he could see that Marchosias was getting lonely –  even if he tried hard to conceal it, a mother knows best. Being the caring person he is, he told Death to keep his little one company whilst he went out to find a smart snake for Marchosias to have an intellectual conversation with.

He stopped in front of a shop that sells animals, not bothering to look at the name – Magicals have no sense in naming – and walked in. The sales girl greeted him with enthusiasm and he raised a brow at her. Knockturn shops tend to have a policy of sneering at customers as their service.

“Good day sir. What sort would you be… _interested_ in?” She winked and leered at Marcaunon, her eyes roaming his body in an onceover.

He nodded his head as a greeting and waved her off. He was not staying in her presence any longer. Whilst he made his way towards the back of the store, he felt eyes on his ass. He was tempted to gouge her eyes out but refrained. He had grown to be a better person in his age.

… Who was he kidding, he would gouge her eyes afterwards.

Marcaunon pushed the thought of her away in favor of looking at the animals throughout the store. It was a sight that made him grimace. They were mutated and likely experimented on, making their appearance unappealing and deformed. The animals were quite, and they looked pitiful. It made his cold heart melt in pity.

He always had a soft spot for animals (say no to animal abuse!). Being an experimental toy for humans was an awful experience he wished to never repeat. It was better to find a serpent that had yet to break and get the hell out of this place. It was bringing in bad memories.

The thought of releasing these confined beasts passed his mind but he firmly shook them out. They would not survive in the wild and would likely die from starvation. They were similar to housepets, they would lose their instincts over time when confined. Judging by their disposition, they not only lost their basic survival instincts but also their desire to live.

A serpent caught his eye and he stopped in front of a tank. The lids were firmly shut and he sensed anti-theft wards. A master in occlumency could easily trick the wards. He eyed the pit viper, looking at how the dark green scales shine under the lighting. It was beautiful.

Marcaunon tilted his head and hid his displeasure when he saw eyelids sewn onto the eyes. He checked to see if the sales girl was anywhere near him, and luckily she wasn’t. Unluckily she was still ogling his ass.

He really felt violated.

**_“Hello there beautiful.”_ **

The snake turned its head towards him and slithered forward, stopping just as its nose butted the tank.

 ** _“A speaker…”_** She hissed. Her voice was unmistakably female. **_“I have only met one once, are you his hatchling?”_ **

**_“I doubt it… Who is this Speaker you speak of?”_** He leaned forward in interest.

**_“I know not what he is called, but he smells of earth and decay.”_ **

**_“Curious… How old are you, beautiful one?”_** Earth and decay huh…? He knew of one type of magic that uses earth and dead bodies.

**_“We do not count days like you two-legged. But it has been a long time.”_ **

Marcaunon raised a sceptic brow.

**_“May I ask if you are blind?”_ **

**_“Yes. The two-legged who smells of putrid toxins removed my eyes.”_ **

**_“Tsk. How unfortunate. Your eyes may have been just as beautiful as your scales.”_ **

The snake hissed in pleasure at the compliment and Marcaunon knew that his boy would love this one. They were both vain.

**_“You are venomous, are you not?”_ **

**_“Indeed I am.”_ **

**_“Would you like to come with me? My young one would treasure you like no other.”_ **

**_“… I would be honored, Master.”_ **

**_“Oh no no. Marchosias shall be your Master, not I.”_ **

Marcaunon opened the lid and wrapped the 2meter long serpent around his torso and shoulders. Just as he was about to head towards the cashier, he moved to another tank that caught his eye.

Inside this particular one, was a lone rattlesnake. Its scales were black with white spots down to the tips of its tail, and almost reaching a good length of 2.5meters. Unlike most of the animals here, its eyes were watching him with attentiveness.

**_“It has been awhile since any two-legged wizards came into this weird cave.”_ **

Cave? Did the snake mean the store?

**_“How long have you been in here, gorgeous?”_ **

**_“Long enough to know that once that disgusting wizard comes, some will be taken behind before returning without tails or eyes.”_ **

**_“An awful man.”_** He agreed. **_“Do you wish to be free from here?”_**

 ** _“I do. But you have chosen another.”_** He – the snake’s voice was too deep to be female – looked sad at that and Marcaunon hummed.

 ** _“This charming lady –“_** Marcaunon rubbed the viper’s head with his thumb, and she hissed in rapture. **_“is for my hatchling. He gets lonely and has a fascination with the color green.”_**

Tom was always throwing Avadas everywhere, so he must love the color green.

**_“Then… Please take me away from here, Speaker.”_ **

**_“Marcaunon’s my name. You’re too long for me to carry with beauty still on my shoulders, so slither near my feet.”_ **

**_“Yes Marcster.”_** He snorted at the combination of his name and master.

He removed the lid from the tank and the male slithered down onto the floor and stayed close to him. Marcaunon heard a gasp from the sales girl and turned to see her pale at the sight of two poisonous snakes not inside their tanks.

Marcaunon moved towards the cashier and stopped in front of her.

“I’ll be taking this two.” Without waiting for her to process what he had said, he wandlessly stunned her and hissed at his companions to wait for him outside in one of the alleyways.

As soon as their tails were out the door, he turned towards the repulsive girl and conjured two rusty spoons.

“My thanks for eyeing my ass like a piece of meat.” He bared his teeth in a demented grin and proceeded to spoon out both her eyes. The salesgirl’s face contorted in agony but was unable to move nor voice out her pain.

Once finished with his handy work he raised one of his blood covered hand above his head and opened his palm upwards. He closed his eyes to concentrate and when he snapped them open, they were glowing with power. The stunned sales girl could only stand there without knowing her doom was coming.

“ **Avada Kedavra… Dispersus**.” With only these whispered words, a green light was flashed from his palm and exploded outwards in a circle, killing all the animals in their prison and the girl in front of him instantly.

He recalled the time when he had tweaked the Killing Curse unintentionally when he was in a bout of insanity. His mind was broken, he could barely see anything but red and the only thing he wanted was to wipe out the Parasites that had invaded _his_ village without delay.

This was the result of his will combined with his powerful core.

Marcaunon sighed softly. It would be better for him to put the animals down without any more pain. Death was something he craved for when he was imprisoned, and just by looking into those eyes, the animals were the same.

He was quick to flee from the scene since he knew that the Ministry would detect the surge of Killing Curse soon. After rushing to one of the empty alleyways that his serpents were in, he crouched down and touched both before shadow _walking_ through the wards of Hogwarts.

Once he emerged from the shadows, he noticed his five year old son sitting on the couch reading one of his tombs. Without looking, Marchosias opened his mouth and Marcaunon could hear the controlled anger in his tone.

“Do you know what day it is?” His voice was soft but mocking. Marcaunon shifted uncomfortably before making his way towards his son, but not before signaling the serpents to remain where they were.

“Hey… I’m sorry.” He sat down beside his boy. “I went out –“

 ** _“Exactly.”_** He was interrupted as Marchosias turned towards him without an ounce of emotion on his face, but Marcaunon could clearly see the anger in those eyes. They were glowing crimson in rage, much like Voldemort’s. “Today was supposed to be my day. **_Our day!_** You promised to be with me for the whole of Sundays.”

“I know that, dearest. But –“

“But what!? What is so important for you to break your promise with me? **_I am your top priority, Mother! NOTHING and NOBODY else!”_** Marcaunon inward winced. His son usually lapsed into parseltongue only when beyond furious.

He tried to touch his son, but his hands were batted away. The furnitures were shaking violently due to Marchosias’s magic and Marcaunon swallowed at the pure rage he saw on the five year old’s face.  

“I –… That was! I didn’t… Let me explain. You know how important you are to me, Marchosias.”

 ** _“Explain then.”_** The look he received made him unable to contain a wince. The hurt was clearly shown and Marcaunon had a hard time looking into those ruby eyes.

“Look… Marchosias, dear…” Marcaunon pulled his little boy onto his lap, not minding how his boy struggled futilely. “I know that work has kept me busy, and I could see that you were getting lonely – don’t try to deny it. Your only company is books and the students don’t really know how to behave around you.”

“Then why… Today was supposed to be our day together.” Marchosias’s voice was soft and Marcaunon almost regretted leaving his boy with Death. Speaking of Death….

“Before that, where is Mort? I told him to look after you.”

“… I told him to leave.”

Marcaunon sighed but left it at that. He hugged his boy tighter.

“I bought a companion for you to keep company whilst I work.” He waved one of his hand and two serpents appeared from within the shadows. Marchosias stared at the snakes. “I only wanted for you to have someone, even if it’s a snake, to talk with when I’m not around. Forgive me? Please?”

Marchosias was silent for a long time before he sagged with a sigh.

“Like I could ever continue to be angry with you.” His boy whispered and Marcaunon hugged him tighter. “Next time bring me along. Or leave a note if you really had to leave.”  

“Alright, my dearest. I’m sorry.” He kissed little Chaos’s crown and shifted until both he and his son were facing the snakes. “Which one do you prefer?”

“The green one.”

“It’s a good thing I have already chosen the black then.”

“Then why ask?” He sounded annoyed and Marcaunon chuckled at his grumpy expression.

“But isn’t she beautiful?”

“… Indeed she is. **_What’s your name, beautiful?_** ” The viper raised her head until she was at eye level with little Chaos.

**_“I have no need for a name back then, Little Hatchling. Will you give me one?”_ **

Marchosias scowled at being called little.

**_“Manasa. The Goddess of Serpents.”_ **

She hissed in glee and climbed up the sofa so she was nearer to her new master. Marchosias scratched the top of her head whilst he turned towards Marcaunon.

“What will you name yours?”

“Hmm… **_Vasuki. Suki for short.”_**

 ** _“Serpent King?”_** His boy asked.

Marcaunon nodded in confirmation.

“Where did you buy them, Mother?”

“Knockturn Alley. A store that experiments on animals. Humans are cruel hm?”

“Yess… They are. Especially _Muggles_.”

“True. Remember Chaos dear, no matter how angry you are, never hurt an animal. They’re wonderful companions and would never betray you, unlike humans.”

His boy agreed and Marcaunon ran his hand through Marchosias’s dark hair. He loves how soft his boy’s hair is.

Marcaunon tilted his lips upwards at the shine his boy was sprouting in his eyes, and hummed. The snakes were wrapped around them as they hissed out conversations. He watched how his son ran his hands on both serpents, which led them to hiss in pleasure, and sighed in content.

Suddenly, he remembered the magical camera Death had bought for him last year and was quick to summon it. It flew towards him and stopped just close enough for him to magick it to take a picture of them, surrounded by two serpents that were large enough to eat his boy whole.

The picture showed how both mother and son were smiling and he deemed it the perfect photo to be placed on the fireplace’s mantle together with their other memorable pictures.

* * *

 

_Location: London, Counsellor’s Office_

“Please take a seat, Mr. Potter.” A man with short greying red hair, brown narrowed eyes hidden behind his wired spectacles, and a comforting smile on his face spoke. He was wearing a blue button-down shirt and black slacks. In one of his hands was a pen and notebook.

Marcaunon nodded to the middle aged man and took a seat on the chair opposite to the counsellor. He relaxed into the soft sofa chair and waited for the red head to introduce himself.

“My name is Jordan Goulding, and if you are comfortable, I would like us to call each other by our first names.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Jordan. I am comfortable with us being on a first name basis.”

“Great. So how are you feeling today, Harry?”

“Fine. The weathers a little hot but I’ll survive.”

“That’s good. Can you tell me the reason as to why you decided that you required counseling?”

“I needed someone to vent on.”

“Most do. Why not confide in one of your friends?”

Marcaunon stared at Jordan for a few seconds before he dropped his entire mask, his body language changing from friendly to close off. His smiling façade vanished and his face became unreadable. He crossed his right leg over the other whilst he placed his right elbow onto the armrest and his cheek on his closed fist.

“I have no need for… _friends_.” The last word was spoken with malice and he gleefully saw Jordan recoil slightly at his tone and 180 personality.

His counselor coughed slightly as he regained his bearings once more. From the corner of his eyes, Marcaunon saw Jordan write inside his book: Possible MPD.

“How about family?”

Marcaunon tilted his lips into a small, barely there smile at the thought of his little one.

“I have a son.”

“Will you tell me about him?”

“Hmm… He’s named Marchosias, but I usually call him Chaos for short. He’s the joy of my life… but not someone I could rant with.”

“Why did you name him Marchosias?” Jordan looked disturbed, but tried to hide it. Marcaunon knew that Parasites don’t name their children after demons, so it would be weird to encounter a child with that particular name.

“Well…” He drawled. “It’s family tradition… My little boy was furious at me the previous day.”

“Oh? May I ask why?”

“Yess… For you to understand why, I will have to tell you about my occupation. I am a Professor. I have a tight and busy schedule, and I am only free on Sundays. I promised little Chaos that I would remain with him for the whole of that day, but I broke it… It was only once.”

“Why did you break your word?”

“I wanted to buy him a pet. He’s lonely you see. Don’t get me wrong, he’s an independent child that loves his solitude. But even the most anti-social person out there would want company instead of books at times.”

“Indeed. Harry, how old is your son?”

“He’s five.”

“… You left a five year old alone at home?” The pen moved once more and Marcaunon was tempted to point out that he could see what the man was writing. Young father; not married? One night stand with no protection?

“Oh no, of course not.” He scoffed. Was this man looking down at his parental skill just because he looked young? “The school I work for is a private school. Chaos stays with me and attends my classes during the day. If his Godfather isn’t busy, Chaos would remain with him until I return.” 

“Does he not disrupt the class? Most five year olds, a boy at that, would often run around and make noise.”

“Chaos isn’t your average five year old boy, Jordan. He’s a genius. He loves reading and tends to ignore my students. He doesn’t really care about people much.” If Marcaunon ever suggest a thing such a going to the playground, Marchosias would rather plot his death than play with other children.

“Oh..?” Jordan looked worried. Social issues might develop from son; Sociopath?

 “Nothing to worry about.” He waved off dismissively.

“If you say so…” Jordan looked unsure but sighed and moved on. “I’m sure he was angry because he wanted his father to prioritize him over everything else.”

“I see… He is rather possessive.”

“P-possessive? No no Mr. Po–Harry. I would not go far as to say that he is possessive... Perhaps you should bring him along with you next time? He might… develop some problems with his social life when he grows older.”

“If you say so, Jordan. I am aware that my son is a psychopath, not a sociopath. You have no need to worry.”

“Wha… What…?”

Marcaunon scowled at the man. He hated repeating.

“My son is a psychopath, not a sociopath. He tends to kill first, ask questions later.”

“Kill!?” Jordan sputters.

“In a manner of speaking of course. Before we get side-tracked, I would like to talk about my school experience.”

“Ah.. Erm.. Go ahead, Harry.” Try to persuade Mr. Potter into bringing his son for the next session.

“Thank you. Now we start with eleven year old mini-me getting a letter for children with special talents. It was an invitation to a school, the very same school that I’m currently teaching by the way.  I was so excited at the prospect of leaving my relatives for the whole year. But before I could accept, my fat lard of an Uncle decided to tear the letter into pieces.”

“What did you do?” Problems at home during childhood. 

“You must understand that I have a very short temper when I was younger. I was so angry that I decided to put a bottle of laxative into the soup I was cooking, and gave them to my relatives.”

“Relatives?”

“My Walrus of an Uncle, my Horse of an Auntie, and a baby whale with blonde hair… My Cousin.”

“You decided to use a drug that facilitates the evacuation of bowels on your whole family due to your Uncle?”

“Indeed. I was told that I hold grudges like no tomorrow. Moving on, my _relatives_ ” Marcaunon emphasized the word relative because they are definitely not family. “went to watch TV whilst I, being the good boy I was, cleaned the dishes. A few minutes later dozen of letters were flying around in the living room. I snitched one when my relatives’ stomach decided that there was a problem.”

“Problem... he says.” The man whispered softly to himself and Marcaunon decided to ignore him.

“I sent my acceptance. The next day, a bat… Oh excuse me, a man wearing black from head to toe, with the resemblance of a humanoid bat, took me to buy my schooling supplies. He was a rather hateful man. He sneered a lot and made it his job to let me know that I wasn’t even worthy of being used-gum underneath his shoes.”

“One of your Professors?” Verbal abusive Professor. Might lead to emotional problems and low self-esteem. 

“Correct. He –we’ll call him Bat– teaches the same subject I currently teach. I found out that I was rich by the way. I used to survive on hand-me-downs from the Blonde baby whale. Anyway, the first year of school wasn’t so bad if you exclude a Professor wanting to kill me.”

“Excuse me? Your Professor wanted to kill you? Was it… Bat?” Case of Paranoia? Delusional? Too early to know. 

“Oh no, Bat’s my protector actually. We will go back to him later. For now, this Professor teaches us Defence. He stutters a lot and wears a turban. His garlic perfume was vile as well. Let us call him Squirrel, since his name and mannerism resembles as such. I made two friends and we became known as the Golden Trio. An awful name I know.”

“Why were you and your friends called the Golden Trio?”

“Because of the Headmaster – we shall call him Bumblebee by the way. They think I’m his _Golden_ _Boy_. He would call me into his office once a week just to offer a lemon drop or something. It always made my mind fuzzy afterwards. Anyway, I found out that Squirrel wanted to steal a ruby stone that was hidden by Bumblebee in the school for his Master.

“With the help of my two friends, Pig – he had no table manners at all – and Bushy – her hair was a mess – I made it to the last room that holds the Ruby Stone, and confronted Squirrel. To put it simply, he was possessed by his Master and I killed him.”

“… I’m sorry I thought I heard you say that Squirrel was possessed and that you killed your Professor.”

“Nothing’s wrong with your hearing, I assure you I did kill him. I burnt him alive actually. It felt good to hear him scream and trash on the floor. Bumblebee congratulated me on a job well done and we all moved on with our lives. I’m sure something was wrong with him since he told an eleven year old boy how killing is okay, but I don’t mind. I mean, I have a rather cruel streak when I was young, which vanished once I stepped into Bumblebee’s office. He placed personality compulsions on me for being a hero-complex kind of guy with a martyr streak. Luckily I still had no morals on killing. The blame should go to my relatives by the way.”

“Wait wait wait, Harry. Let me get this straight. You went to a school for special children, met a Professor who loves to wear black and verbal abuses you, learnt that you’re rich, found out the school you’re in is guarding a Ruby, a Professor wants this Ruby and his Master wants to kill you… And you killed your defense professor by burning him alive… Also your Headmaster congratulated you on having killed a person he hired!?” In another world with overactive imagination or delusional. Doesn’t mind killing – homicidal? Pyromaniac? Sadist? 

“Well… When you put it that way, it does sound weird. Additional info is that I almost got eaten by a smelly fat idiot and a giant three-headed dog named Fluffy by our school's bodyguard.” Thoughts of Cerberus and being eaten – having suicidal thought?

“…” Jordan just nodded with a blank face and waved for him to continue.

“Let us move on to second year shall we? And I have a total of seven years in that school.”

“Go ahead, Harry.”

“Thank you Jordan. Now… Second year was actually quite a dangerous year for me. A blonde bloke who is constantly in love with his hair placed a cursed diary into Pig’s sister’s bag when they were shopping, and brought it into the school. Let’s call her Slut.”

“Pig is one of the friends you made in first year yes?”

“Yess. Slut, being the stupid girl she was, decided to write in an unknown diary that writes back because it’s possessed by a soul. She poured her feelings into the object and it was draining her of her life-force, so she became weak. I found out that I could speak another language and was shunned by the whole school because said language was something only the Master spoke. He’s considered evil. Hmm… Let us call the Master; Voldie.”

“Why would they shun a language you speak? Can’t they learn?” Obsessed with spirits and possession. 

“No, that language can only be spoken if you’re family, and if you’re not a part of it, you can’t learn it.”

“You’re related to… Voldie?” Definitely having family issues.

“In a way I am. Moving on, the diary possessed Slut and made her open The Chamber of Secrets. And soon, students were petrified and the school was on the verge of closing. Slut went missing one day and Pig dragged me to find her with our new Defence Professor Peacock… We told him Slut was missing and brought him to the entrance of the Chamber. After entering, the Professor pointed at us Pig’s weapon and decided to make us lose our memories. Of course he failed cause… he’s a failure, and knocked himself out. The walls soon collapsed leading to my and Pig’s seperation… I moved on and saw Slut on the dirty floor. I was tempted to kick her actually.”

“Why?” Social issues. Tends to solve everything with violence. 

“She kept on touching me inappropriately. It was disturbing to see an eleven year old trying to seduce a twelve year old. As much as I would have liked to leave her to rot underground, the compulsion kicked in and I rushed foolishly towards her. The soul inside the diary was out of its container and we talked for a bit. I, being forced into an imprudent boy, insulted the soul and he called out a giant snake. It was highly venomous and almost made me shit myself. Are you keeping up?”

“Yes… I think I am.” Confirmed MPD. This ‘Compulsion’ is his nicer personality.

“Good. I then slew the ancient serpent with an equally ancient sword and stabbed the possessed diary with the serpent’s fang. The soul then let out an anguished scream, which I thoroughly relished in it. After a while, I saved Slut and found out that Peacock is in Hospital due to his mind being regressed into that of a toddler.”

“That was… quite an adventure you had. Did you feel guilty about Peacock being sent to the hospital?”

“Indeed. No, why would I?” No feelings of remorse or guilt.

“Ah I forgot to mention that I was almost eaten by the snake I killed and a mob of giant spiders that speak in perfect English.” Has a thing about being eaten alive. A traumatize experience from childhood? Perhaps a bigger than average animal bit him?

“… What happened afterwards?”

“I went back to my relatives and blew up my Aunt.”

“Sorry?”

“Walrus’s sister was being rude towards my dead parents and I got angered. So I blew her up. No lasting damage apart from her mind, no worries.” Confirmed pyromaniac.  

“My third year in the school wasn’t filled with that much action apart from a serial killer breaking from prison. I found out he was my Godfather and we got along splendidly. His desire for revenge is almost as great as mine, since he went all the way to sneak inside a highly guarded school to hunt down my parent’s betrayer. The Rat almost got killed but escaped due to the Prison Guards and the Bat Professor.” Murder/violence runs through the family?

“Why is killing involved every time…” Jordan whispered softly as he continued to scribble onto is notebook. Marcaunon ignored him.

“I saved my Godfather from a horde of soul-sucking bastards but lost my chance of escaping my relatives due to Bumblebee’s constantly denying to provide my Godfather’s trial to prove him innocent. Have I told you how much I despise my Headmaster? No? Well, I despise him.”

“Why would he not want to clear your Godfather’s name if he’s innocent?”

“Because he doesn’t want to lose his pawn. In addition, I almost got eaten by a werewolf and my soul sucked by a Prison Guard. Once again, I am traumatized when that bloody wolf opened its mouth big enough for me to see its oh so sharp canines. As much as I would love to tell you how traumatized I am, my Fourth year was one of the worst.” Delusions of self-importance (a hero maybe). Confirmed being bitten by a wolf thus traumatized and imagines himself being almost eaten.

“Go on.” Jordan said softly, trying to provide _comfort_ and  _reassurance_.

“My name was then forcefully entered into a tournament that approves of dying! My fellow schoolmates bullied me fiercely when I was chosen out of many. I was also the youngest. Only people above the age of 17 are allowed entry, but of course, Harry Potter defies all. I competed against my will, alongside three more… Whose name I have forgotten. One of them died at the final round actually, so he isn’t that important.” Misunderstood, bullied and abused by peers. No care about human lives. A case of Misanthropy? 

“Did you feel sorrow?”

“Sorrow huh… Very well, I shall try next time.”

“Wait… What?”

“I’ll kill someone after this session so I could try to feel sorrow afterwards.”

“No wait that wasn’t–“

“I was taken into a graveyard… miles and miles away from school, just to be tied up to a tombstone and witness a naked man climbing out of a giant cauldron. Voldie was ashen, not pale, but ashen. He had no body hair and nose. He was skinny beyond belief and his red eyes were glaring at me with pure malice and hatred. Of course since he was naked, I saw everything, including his dick – which was massive by the way – thus leading to severe traumatization, and the burning of my retinas.” Sexual frustrations. Homosexuality… No wait, he has a son. Bisexual then. In love with ‘Voldie’ but still hate him, thus leading to degrading his appearance but wanting to still see him naked – was Voldie one of his school bullies?

“D-did he… Do anything sexual to you?”

“Oh Merlin no! Get your mind out of the gutter! The only writhing I did was on the floor as he tortured me into madness. I escaped with pure luck and when reported back that Voldie was the one who killed the other competitor, I was called insane. Many believe that Voldie is dead you see. Ignorant sheep. Anyway, which creature wanted to eat me that year…? Care to guess?” A school bully that died (or murdered). Others know so called him insane for thinking a dead person is alive? His obsession with spirits – wants to revive his crush?

“Err… A lion?”

“Hm… Not really, it was worst. A giant fire-breathing lizard, several sea-creatures, and horrible giant monsters that roam the maze.”

“That’s… quite a lot.”

“Indeed. Let’s move on to fifth year. Many still believe that I was insane, so I was of course isolated. I had earned a lot of detentions that year due to the new Defense Professor, Toad. She tortured me in her detention.”

“What!? Did you report her?” Abusive Professors or extreme dislike for authority figures.

“Nobody believed me. They wrote me off as insane remember?”

“I can’t believe that…” Definitely misunderstood.

“Neither can I. I am clearly sound in mind.”

“…”

“I was forced by Bushy to lead a rebellion and created a group to teach Defense. I was strong even for my age, so I became their teacher. Not much happened, but I was laughing gleefully when our dear Professor Toad became traumatized when a group of furry four legged humans dragged her off to who knows where before returning her. She was incompetent so nobody cared when she left. Lastly, I lost my Godfather’s life due to my daft – compulsion – and brash behaviour. For our annual eating Harry moment, stay away from giants. I almost got eaten by one. Even if he was one of my Professor’s half-brother.”

“… Your school hires weird… teachers. Do you feel guilty about your Godfather’s death?” Blames his ‘nicer’ personality for his Godfather’s death.

“Bumblebee is clearly tossing the school to the dogs. Rumor has it that Voldie was rejected by Bumblebee when he applied for Defense, and placed a curse. Every year the Defense Professors would die a gruesome death or retire due to trauma or get fired due to their sheer incompetence. For guilt? No. The only thing I felt was lost – my chance of being removed from my relatives were gone now.”

“I see…” No feelings of remorse or guilt. Could be considered a sociopath or unable to feel anything after doing wrong. Psychopath still pending.

“Yess, I know what you’re feeling. Bumblebee is clearly not Headmaster material. Of course I trashed his office once due to my anger. He was keeping information from me so it’s fair. I had the right to know. Anyway, Bumblebee was murdered by Bat and the school grieved for his death. I remembered feeling giddy that day, but I didn’t know why.”

“Do you know now?” Has a love for death/suffering.

“Yess I do. Bumblebee had me drinking and eating things that made my mind unclear. When I was a boy, I was ruthless and would break other people’s bones if they displeased me. Ever since I started the school, I was kind and friendly. It was disturbing and I wondered why I changed so much. Now I know of course. Let us move onto more important subject… such as finding out I was raised as a sacrificial lamb for the _Greater Good_ – does wonders to one’s mentality huh? – after Bat got killed by Voldie. Bat Professor has always protected me from the shadows due to an oath he made. He would protect me at all cost due to my mother. He was childhood friends with her. Who would’ve known?”

“Even a bitter man has a heart.” Confirmed psychopath. 

“Hm. Perhaps. That year I was nearly eaten by animated rotten corpse. They were inside a lake and almost succeeded in taking some of my flesh off.”

“…Zombies?” Confirmed delusional.

“You could say that. For my last and final year… I’ll just cut down to the point where another giant fire-breathing reptile almost ate me. Seven years of wide open mouths looming over you will give anyone nightmares. I assure you that I was severely traumatized by the saliva that covered my entire frame when it roared. Apart from my experience of being live bait, I killed Voldie due to pure luck and grieved for him a minute later. Yess I know, weird. I at first enjoyed my accidental victory, but soon was overcome with devastation. I wanted him back alive even though he had killed thousands of people. Does that make me evil?”

“Well… Why do you want him alive?”

“He’s my soul-brother.”

“What?”

“Now tell me, my dear Counselor, what did you learn about my school years?”

“… That you were nearly eaten by creatures with razor sharp teeth each year?”

“Close, but no. Since you got it wrong, I should bring you to my dungeons. I’m lacking a playmate you see. As much as I love my little Chaos, I need to relieve some stress from all the paperwork I’m doing. I wouldn’t want to accidentally yell at him… Even though his mood has greatly improved after I got him his own familiar, he still gives me the _glare-of-doom_ once in a while.”

“What?”

“Hm let’s go.”

“What?”

“Can you only say What? Parasites these days.”

Marcaunon stood up and stretched before snapping his fingers together. Jordan was bound and gagged in a second with his eyes wide open. The red head squirmed and looked around in panic, before a butterfly landed on him and he disappeared.

Marcaunon gave a very demented slasher smile and cackled as he disappeared from the office, and didn’t stop laughing even as he appeared from the shadows whilst making his way towards his dungeon underneath his cottage.

* * *

 

 **_Rainbows and Butterflies,_ **  
**_GenderlessPerson_ **

* * *

**[Revised: 15 September 2015]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the other chapters afterwards. Tired as hell.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: School and Reunion**

“Speaking”

**_“Parseltongue”_ **

_‘Mental telepathy’_

**“Spells”**

* * *

 

_1965  
Location: Hogwarts, Dungeons_

Marcaunon grimaced as he tried (and failed) to scratch the unreachable itch behind his mind. He knew that he was forgetting something important, but what was it? He suspected it had something to do with his progeny, and that made his grimace turn into a scowl.

With a defeated sigh, he continued towards the Great Hall, where he would meet up with his little one for dinner. Marchosias had all but run off to the restriction section after he had given permission during lunch, for only a day though.

He wasn’t really worried about his little one roaming the castle unsupervised, since Manasa and Suki (he made sure that they were small enough so that Marchosias could carry them) would be with him at all times. Marcaunon preferred his familiar to remain together with his son due to the Headmaster. Slytherin descendants could be used as a weapon against Voldemort after all –not that Chaos would even want to be on the Light’s side.

“P-professor Gaunt?” A female’s voice stuttered from behind him. Marcaunon plastered a polite smile onto his face and turned.

“Yess?”

A Hufflepuff girl twirled a lock of her chestnut hair in a nervous gesture as she cleared her throat.

“Are you alright?” Her face was an amazing shade of red.

“E-excuse me?” She blinked.

“Your face is red. Do you have a fever? Do you need me to bring you to see Madam Pomfrey?”

“No!” She squeaked as she turned crimson. He could practically see the smoke rising from her face. “I mean, no sir! Looking at you makes me hot. No wait I didn’t mean…! That wasn’t…”

Marcaunon inward frowned in confusion. Why would looking at him make her feel hot? He wasn’t wearing that much clothing, since he forgone his robe.

“Daddy?” The innocent little voice made him spin around and look downwards. Marchosias was standing just an arm’s length away, his arms hugging a tome almost half his size. His hood was up, making the blue dragon horns attached at the top stand out. Marcaunon almost cooed at how adorable his son is; he often wore those cute animal hoodies Marcaunon had bought for him.

“Hello there little one. How was your trip to the library?”

“Good. I found this interesting tome to read. Was there something she needed?” Marcaunon missed his son’s narrowing of the eyes when he turned back to the girl in question.

“I… I was just wondering if you could tutor me, sir… Since the O.W.Ls  are coming.”

“Ah. I’m having a tutor session the next day with the Ravenclaws. In the library at noon. You may join us, if that’s alright with you?”

She looked a little disappointed but smiled at him nonetheless.

“Alright. Thank you Professor Gaunt.” The Puff bowed before hurrying away.

Marcaunon shook his head and sighed. Being a Professor was tiring.

“Chaos?” He turned towards his son. “Let me carry that for you.”

His little boy thanked him and they continued their way towards the Hall, hand in hand.

_OOOO_

“Marcaunon, I’ve been wondering for a while…” McGonagall spoke suddenly from beside him.

Marcaunon’s fork was half way up his mouth when he turned towards her with a questioning tilt of his head. A habit he couldn’t get rid of no matter how much he tried.

“Why isn’t little Marchosias not attending Elementary school? He’s already five is he not?”

Ah… So that was what his itch was about. What bad parenting skill he has. Marcaunon groaned at his stupidity. Whilst he was berating himself, he missed how Marchosias had frozen in place with a look of incredulity.

“I forgot! I knew there was something I had forgotten. Thank you for reminding me Minerva…” He sighed and faced his little one, who looked a little too pale for his liking. Was he alright?

“What’s wrong? Are you ill?” He touched his son’s forehead.

“No.”

“Well alright. Anyway, I’ll have to sign you up for primary school.”

“Daddy, I don’t think I would fit in with other children.”

“Nonsense, you haven’t been with others your age to know that yet.”

“I already know how to read, write and do mathematics. I don’t really need to go school. We can just say I was homeschooled… which is true since we do live in a school.”

“Chaos… Name me five people you’ve converse with today.”

“You, Minnie, Filly, Mana and Suki.”

Marcaunon deadpanned alongside with McGonagall.

“Marcaunon I’m worried.”

“So am I, Minerva. So am I…”

_OOOO_

“Mr. Gaunt? The Principal will see you now.” A woman with dark wavy hair called out from behind her desk.

Marcaunon thanked her and entered the office with his gloomy son in hand. Marchosias had been acting more than a little irritable lately, especially after he had called the School Principal to enroll his little one into school.

Marchosias had been throwing tantrums that would make even Voldemort look like an angel. Just to name a few: his wardrobe was burnt crispy, their bedchambers had looked like a tornado had passed through, his hair had been turned into a brilliant shade of fuchsia, and Death’s cloak was transfigured into a green and white striped bikini when It had Its guard down–the entity had shrieked quite like a girl and went missing for days.  

He had lost his patience after his stack of Deathfiles became incinerated –he had worked the whole night to complete that. Marcaunon then confronted his moody child and after their talk(screaming match), Marchosias had finally accepted that he would have to attend Muggle Elementary school since there were none for Wizards and Witches.

“Principal Skinner, thank you for allowing us to meet you.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Gaunt. Please take a seat.”

Both mother and son seated themselves on the coach whilst the man sat opposite to them. Seymour Skinner is the Principal of Towne Private School, with greying brown hair, and dark eyes. He wore a lavender shirt underneath his blue suit, and orange tie.

“First of all, I would like to welcome you and your son to Towne Private School, Elementary division.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Before we move on to what this school expects from young Marchosias, you said something about wanting your son to have an aptitude test for Second Grade, Mr. Gaunt?”

Marchosias’s head snapped towards him at the mention of Second grade, and Marcaunon hid his glee behind his serene mask. Marcaunon was still holding a grudge against his son for setting his Deathfiles in flames. He knew that Marchosias wanted to be in fifth grade so that he didn’t have to deal with drooling children and could graduate in a year –lest he killed them all with his _accidental_ Magic.

He knew that he was being petty, spiteful, and pretty much immature, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. La vendetta es una minestra che se mangia fredda[1]. Insert evil cackle here.

“Yess… I know that parents usually brag about their children, but my son… is different than any average five year old child. To put it bluntly, Principal, I do not wish to bore him with the teachings of Kindergarten.”

“If you say so, Mr. Gaunt.” Skinner’s tone was full of skepticism and resignation. Marcaunon wondered if parents usually overestimated their child’s abilities… But he highly doubted that _Tom_ _Riddle_ , child and magical prodigy, could fail a test below the level of a college student –if he studied Muggle subjects of course.  

Skinner placed a few pieces of paper on the table in front of Marchosias and handed his little boy a pencil.

“Ten minutes, no more I’m afraid.” Marchosias picked a sheet up and scanned it. Marcaunon became wary when a manic glint appeared inside those beautiful ruby eyes.

Maybe he should tinker with the Principal’s head a little and force him to place Marchosias in Second Grade… No… He should be a good example of a parent and Mini-mort would rather eat Dumbieboob’s Lemon Drops than make himself look less intelligent. Why was his boy so prideful…?

…Oh right, ex-Dark Lord.

_OOOO_

“Really, what were you **_thinking_** …”Marcaunon gritted as he kicked a stray pebble out of the way.

“You should’ve just placed me into Fifth grade like we’ve planned.”

“I applied you for Muggle School because of your **_anti-social tendencies_**. For you to make at least a friend with your own age group.” They both glared at each other, ruby meeting scarlet head-on.  

“Like you’re one to talk, **_Mother_**. You don’t even _have_ friends, only _allies_.”

He couldn’t say anything to that. Marchosias was right, he was indeed friend-less. Marcaunon turned on his heels, his cloak billowing behind him as he strode towards his House’s common room. He had duties to attend to.

* * *

 

_1965  
Location: Towne School, Elementary Section, Class 5-A_

Torture. What he was experiencing now was pure, agonizing torture. Even after a month of attending Muggle School with eleven year olds, he could feel his intelligence melting away from sheer stupidity. What they learnt were so basic that he literally fell asleep once the teacher starts droning.

He recalled the time that he was an actual eleven year old boy. Due to the Orphanage having a financial crisis (money spent on Mrs. Cole’s liquor), many of the children there were unable to attend school. He was one of them. When he still didn’t yet know about Magic, he went to the library daily and thanks to his eidetic memory, memorized books that no other eleven year old could hope to understand. He even read the dictionary to improve his grammar and learn foreign languages.

He had already planned how he would try to obtain scholarship to a good University when he grew older, but his plans were discarded due to him being enrolled into Hogwarts –and becoming a Dark Lord after graduation. Marchosias could only shake his head at how his _classmates_ –he spat the word with venom, even in his mind– do nothing but goof around. Not all, but majority. Due to him being enrolled into a Private School, the children here were spoilt rotten by their parents. It was Draco Malfoys Muggle edition.

Unlike in Hogwarts, the teachers here were having a hard time controlling the students. Their lessons were so boring that the students would fold paper airplanes to entertain themselves. Now that he compared how eleven year old Muggles and Magicals behave in their Schooling environment, he preferred staying with the latter (obviously) –even when they were calling him a _Mudblood_. At least Wizards and Witches gave their Professors the respect they deserved –they were learning Magic after all.

Speaking of Marcaunon… His mother was depressed thanks to Marchosias’s scathing words and actions for the whole of his time attending school.

Now that he had time to actually sit down and think (nothing else to do in class anyway) after a week of giving the silent treatment to his mother, Marchosias admitted that he was being a git to his caring parent. Not something he liked to admit, even to himself.

He knew how hard it was for his mother to raise him as a single parent –even if they were rich. Marcaunon worked hard to make Marchosias content, giving books and teaching him things that even he himself didn’t know. Marcaunon’s workload was a lot, no thanks to Dumbledore. Teaching all the students (first to seventh years, he should really get an assistant), marking essays, making lesson plans, club activities, Head of the House duties, and mountains of (still unknown) paperwork he received from Mort on a daily basis.

Even with his amazingly filled schedule, Marcaunon still made time for Marchosias. He recalled a time when his mother hadn’t had time to sleep for a week, yet he still stayed awake for the whole of Sunday just because Marchosias told him to do so.

He actually felt guilty for denying his mother sleep. He, Lord Voldemort, ex-Dark Lord, felt guilty. And now, he felt like a bloody git for treating his gentle (to him) mother like dirt.

Just because he couldn’t control his temper, he said withering and downright scornful things to Marcaunon that he immediately regretted. He deserved to be slapped, punched, even kicked at, but the only thing Marcaunon did was bury his face into his hands. He walked away from his mother then.  

That night when he performed his nightly memory sorting, he noticed things that he never noticed before.

He noticed how his mother looked hurt when Marchosias mocked him. He noticed how his mother forced a smile when Marchosias scorned him. He noticed how his mother endured it when he showed his contempt. He noticed how his mother did everything just so he could see his downright _ungrateful_ child smile –even a small one counted. Lastly, he noticed how his mother sobbed ever so softly when Marchosias walked away from him.

It made his non-existing heart quiver and ache.

With a never seen before determined expression on his face, he made up his mind. Marchosias would apologize. Not something he had ever done genuinely, but to mend bridges with the only person he treasured? He would. 

_OOOO_

As usual, Marcaunon, his beautiful mother, waited for him at the entrance of his Muggle School. Marcaunon studied his mother’s strained smile, his worn out appearance and the bags forming underneath those dimmed scarlet eyes. They stood out in contrast to Marcaunon’s pale skin. Even with how exhausted his mother looked to be, heads would turn towards him without him doing anything but just standing there. Not even Marchosias could deny how alluring his mother appeared. Luckily, his feelings for his mother were purely platonic. It would be awkward if he wanted to bed the person whom had given birth to him.    

“Marchosias. How was school?” That was another thing he hated. Ever since he yelled at Marcaunon two days ago, Mother had started calling him by his full name, not those endearing nicknames that he secretly cherished.

“As good as being with Muggles could be.” He snarled unintentionally. The smile became more strained and Mother flinched at his tone. He instantly berated himself for losing control (again).

“Eh… Let’s head home, shall we?” Marcaunon hesitated in taking his hand, but did so and walked to an empty alleyway.

Once they appeared outside of Hogwarts’s massive gates, his hand was released as if burnt, and they walked silently towards their shared chambers.

Just as they reached the portrait of their ancestor, Salazar, he grabbed a fistful of his mother’s robe sleeve. This action made Marcaunon jump in surprise and turned towards him with guarded eyes. Probably to prepare himself for another round of a screaming from Marchosias. He breathed in deeply and turned to look into Marcaunon’s eyes. He wanted to convey his absolute sincerity.

“Mother… I…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I would like to apologize. My actions were –“

He was cut off by Marcaunon’s sudden embrace. He didn’t hesitate in returning it. Marcaunon was on his knees and he could feel how his mother’s whole body was trembling. He ignored Salazar’s dark gaze from within the portrait and the wetness he felt on his shoulder. The only thing he did was to continue comforting his only treasured parent.

He swore to himself to never hurt his most cherished person in his life ever again.

* * *

 

_24 th August 1966  
Location: Hogwarts _

Marcaunon stood with a serene expression on his face, cursing the Headmaster in all the languages he knew –and boy that’s a lot of languages. That bloody old man had changed the password to the meeting room and didn’t even bother to inform him! He was already late since he had to ensure his bookworm of a son not enter the Library just yet, lest they get screeched at by that harpy.

Madam Norma Pince, Irma Pince’s mother, was a strict woman and had given specific instructions that nobody enter her Library until she deemed it appropriate enough. After hearing the news, Marchosias imitated a Basilisk for a few long hours before Marcaunon had had enough and threatened to force him into wearing glasses. Many people were uncomfortable with his boy’s glare, and for a five going six year old, oh he could _glare_ alright. A great definition of _If looks could Kill._

“Marc?” He was startled out of his musings by a female’s voice and turned around, only to come face-to-face with his fellow Puff. “Are you a Professor?”

“Pomona? What’re you doing here?” He took a step back and observed the slightly plump woman. Pomona Sprout had grown from her childish looks and into a fine woman (big breast), albeit on the chubby side.

“I got accepted as an Assistant Professor for Herbology. And you?” Her eyes roamed his body and finally stopped on his face. “Still as beautiful as ever, hm Marc?”

“Pomona! At least call me handsome.” He huffed and crossed his arms with a scowl. “I’m the residence Potions’ Master of Hogwarts. Do you perhaps know the password? It seems they have forgotten to inform me of the change…”

She giggled at him and nodded.

“Handsome doesn’t really suit you, dear Marc! Congratulations on getting the job you wanted by the way. Plantain. We should catch up afterwards.”

The portrait opened and they moved inside, the other staff members already seated. He whispered his thanks to his fellow Puff and seated himself to the Headmaster’s left. He hated this arrangement, but Dumbles seemed to have taken a liking to him over the years.

“Now that everyone has arrived, I bid you all a good afternoon!” The old man spoke after Sprout had seated herself beside their Herbology Professor, Beery. They each mumbled their greetings to the eccentric Headmaster.

“Apologies to have called you in on a Sunday on such short notice. As many of you should know, there was an attack on Hogsmeade the previous day. The Minister had invited me over on Monday, and there would be no other time to conduct another meeting since you would all be busy preparing for your classes.”  

“The Prophet had yet released any information pertaining to the attack, were there casualties, Albus?” Rolanda Hooch, the Flying Instructor asked with worry.

“None that were fatally wounded. Just a few scratches.”

“Was it terrorists?” Beery questioned, looking quite nervous.

“I have my suspicion… That it’s a newly rising Dark Lord.”

The staffs gasped and started firing question after question towards Bumblebee. Marcaunon hid a frown. Was Voldemort back from his travels? Did he have enough followers to boldly make an attack in Hogsmeade? Wasn’t he supposed to be hiding until the 70s? So many questions yet he had no answers. Perhaps it was time for him to–

“You’re unusually silent on this, Marcaunon my boy.” The Headmaster whispered to him.

“Just thinking, Albus. Were there any marks or signs, for you to deduct it the work of a budding Dark Lord? Were they similar to Grindelwald’s…?”

The old goat hummed as he stroked his beard, his twinkling blue eyes sparkling more at his question. How disturbing…

“No, but the group targeted shops that sell Muggle artifacts.”

“They could just be a group of men that hate Muggles, Albus. Perhaps they have a uniform of some kind? Something to make them unique from the rest?”

“They wore blank white masks, but that was all.”

“Blank? No patterns…? None at all?”

They continued to whisper for some time before the Headmaster silenced the Staff and continued with the meeting. He introduced Sprout as their newest member, alongside the DADA Professor –which he forgot the name soon after. Nobody said anything but they knew that he would not last long.

The meeting went on for another hour before they were dismissed. Marcaunon stretched in his seat and just as he made to stand, an aged hand held him in place by the shoulder. He raised a question brow at the Headmaster but received only a kind grandfatherly smile in return –he resisted the urge to claw the Headmaster’s face. They waited until the last of the Professors exited before Dummiepork spoke.

“My dear boy,” He hid a glare behind his polite smile. “I would like you to accompany me to the Ministry tomorrow.” He plastered on a confused expression and the old man elaborated. “Minister Leach has a sample of an unknown potion used in that attack. One of the Aurors managed to snatch one of the vials before the culprits portkey-ed away. They need a Potion’s Master to make an antidote since many were poisoned.”

“It would be my pleasure to accompany you, Albus. Is there anything else?”

“Nothing else, my boy. Pass little Marchosias my regards.”

“I will. Good day to you, Albus.”

Bumblybitch inclined his head just as Marcaunon exited the room. He grimaced at the thought of spending any more time with that barmy old coot –insanity was contagious. Just as he was about to find his boy, Sprout appeared in front of him with Marchosias in hand.

“Why did you remain behind, Marc? I thought you’ve left and went to search for you!” She whined and placed her free hand on her hip.

“Albus wanted to speak to me in private. My apologies Pomona. Hello there Chaos dear.”

“Hi dad.” Was the reluctant greeting.

“Why don’t we catch up whilst we’re having lunch?”

“Sounds good. My, how little Marchosias has grown. He looks exactly like you, Marc.”

“He _is_ my son, Pomona.”

* * *

[1] Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Rainbows and Honeycreams,  
GenderlessPerson


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Malfoys, Malfoys… Oh and look, more Malfoys!**

“Speaking”

**_“Parseltongue”_ **

_‘Mental telepathy’_

**“Spells”**

* * *

 

_August 1966  
Location: Ministry of Magic_

They both walked towards the Minister’s office contemplative silence. Marcaunon didn’t bother trying to guess what the old coot was thinking about –probably the makings of Lemon Drops or what rot.

He didn’t notice that they have arrived until they were ushered into the office by a blushing secretary. She was staring lecherously at Dumblewhore and Marcaunon had to hold back a grimace –she should learn occlumency and keep those thoughts to herself. 

“Albus, I’m glad you could make it.” Nobby Leach, the Minister of four years greeted with a broad smile. The man has bags underneath his dark eyes, laughs lines all over his face and goatee. He looked rather fit for a fifty something year old man with a desk job –though there was a bald spot on his greying head.

“Nobby! How are you, my friend?” They took a seat by the fireplace (different seats!) with Leach directly in front of them.

“Sadly tiring. Too many howlers for my liking.”

“Pardon me, Minister. Lord Malfoy and Head Auror Moody have arrived.” The secretary announced after knocking on the door.

“I hope you don’t mind having them with us, Albus. Abraxas is here to represent the Wizengamot, and Moody is the Head Auror.”

“Of course not, Nobby.” The Headmaster’s twinkle had dimmed a little. Marcaunon would’ve smirked at the old man, but he was dreading the encounter.

“Send them in, Ms. Sina.”

The door opened and Leach greeted the newcomers with a smile. They were ushered to their seats, with Malfoy sitting to the left of him, and Mood to Bumblebee’s right.

Abraxas was a tall man with long blonde hair and grey eyes. The blond was more muscular than his son, Lucius, and has the same handsome face that all other Malfoys have. He wore an elegant dark colored robe (the material looked expensive) that fit his body, showing how fit the man is. The canes all Malfoy Lords had was by his side and Marcaunon held in a snort at the design –a silver snake, how original.    

He observed the Head Auror next, noticing that he looked very similar to Mad-eye. His father perhaps. The man was at an average height, and has average looks –one that he’ll forget soon (the only reason why he remembered Mad-eye was because of his scars). The man wore the standard Auror uniform as he slouched in his seat, unlike the other men in the office.

“Gentlemen, let me introduce you to the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, and… I’m sorry young man, but I never got your name.” The men turned to him and Marcaunon brought out his Hufflepuff friendly mask that basically shout out ‘ _I’m innocent and defenseless’_.

“That’s because I have yet to be introduced, Minister.”

Dumbles at least had the decency to look sheepish and cleared his throat to gain attention.

“Nobby, Lord Malfoy, Auror Moody, let me introduce to you my Potions’ Master, Marcaunon Gaunt. Marcaunon, this is Nobby Leacher, Abraxas Malfoy, and Arastor Moody.”

Marcaunon discreetly scanned their expression, noting no change apart from the Minister –there was doubt in his eyes. When his scarlet eyes landed on Abraxas, there was a small (too tiny to be noticed if one were not looking for it) expression of confusion in the blonde’s eyes. He recalled that Abraxas Malfoy was infamous for his cruelty and known to be Voldemort’s right hand man in the early 70s.

“I do not wish to be rude, young man… Albus… But isn’t he too young –this is an unknown poison and –“

“Do not be fooled by his youthful face, Minister.” Dumbles cut the Minister off with a chuckle.

“He could be no more than eighteen.” Moody gruffed out. Marcaunon sighed under his breath. Mad-eye’s father kept sending him suspicious looks, and it was beginning to annoy him –was the Moody family motto Constant Vigilance?

“I’m twenty-two, Auror Moody.” He smiled softly at them. “My youthful appearance is all thanks to good genes, but we digressed from our original purpose. Will you let me examine the concoction, MInister?”

Leach handed a potion bottle filled with greenish-blackish bubbling liquid inside.

“May I know the effects…?” He asked absentmindedly as he examined the bottle. He swirled it around and with a heavy sigh, removed his glasses –the world was too _rosy_ for him to make an accurate observation.

“The blood of the victim thickens at a painfully slow rate,” Moody grumbled. “and the temporary solution is to place them in stasis charm.”

“Only thicken?”

“It melts the skin as well as giving them blisters… Abnormal breathing, and they had vomited quite a lot.”

“Any problems with direct inhalation?”

“None.”

With that, he pulled out the cork and took a whiff. There was definitely Monkshood in there as well as Nerium Oleander –two very poisonous plants. He frowned and pulled out his potion equipment and laid them on the table surrounded by the men in the room.

The first thing he would have to do is to separate the components inside. He suspected one or two snake venoms in there, but he was no expert on serpents –apart from Basilisks apparently. He didn’t mind that the men were talking to one another, probably discussing about the raid and how to catch the mastermind, and focused on the potion at hand.

It was something he had never encountered before, even in his original world –maybe the victims died and there was no cure found, so they labeled it as unknown. Marcaunon idly wondered if Voldemort was the one responsible… It wasn’t his style and he would definitely be more subtle in the beginning. Voldemort is a genius strategist, he would never order his minions to raid half-heartedly. There weren’t even that many casualties –and no deaths, shocker!

Voldemort appeared in the late 1960s to terrorize the community when his bills were denied by the Wizengamot (majority supported the _Light_ blindly, the proposals were great actually), before the Ministry announced war around the early 1970s.

He battered the thought away and proceeded to the next step, identifying the ingredients used. It took him quite long but he thankfully noted down that no, there were no basilisk venom used. The only way to counter them was to use Phoenix Tears, which was a rarity itself –phoenixes do not shed their tears without reason. Fawkes was still a wild Phoenix, not yet bonded to Dumbles –he never figured out why sure a pure creature would want to remain with Dumbledore of all people.

The final step was to figure out how to recreate the concoction (by trial and error) so that he could brew an antidote. Marcaunon excused himself from the circle and stood in the middle of the office, glad that at least it was wide and spacious enough. He enlarged his Potion-making kit and conjured a fire pit table.  

He was grateful that he remembered to restock his kit a week ago and arranged all necessary ingredients on the tables.

“May I ask for the progress, Mr… Gaunt?” A smooth male’s voice drawled and he saw Malfoy stepping beside him to observe his work.

“All is well, Lord Malfoy, though I would recommend that you take a few steps back.” He smiled at the blonde as he poured water into the cauldron. “The heat will become much unbearable.”

“Are you able to create an antidote this very day?” The tone was polite, but Marcaunon could hear the hidden doubt in it.

“Hmm…” He hummed as he worked. “It’s definitely a challenge.”

“A Mastery at the age of Twenty-two is an incredible feat itself –curious that nobody knows.” Marcaunon inward sighed at the interrogation he was receiving. Could this blondie not see him working?

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy. The passion I have towards Potions made me what I am today. The guild I am in tends to keep their members anonymous.”

“Most guilds often brag about their members.”

“Is that so?” He replied idly as he stirred.

“Indeed.” Malfoy cleared his throat and moved on to another topic. “How’s Hogwarts these days?”

“Great. The number of students attending is increasing each year.”

“Do you like teaching, Mr. Gaunt?”

“I do, though grading essays is not one of my favorite things to do.” He added a few drops of King cobra venom. “Were you in Slytherin, Lord Malfoy?”

“Indeed I am. May I ask why you’re asking?”

“Hmm… No reason, my Snakes would sometimes talk about you.”

“Oh? I do hope they didn’t say anything unfavorable.”

Marcaunon faked a realistic chuckle and smiled at the blonde.

“Not at all. The bills you present were always a discussion in the common room.”

They continued conversing for another half an hour until the other men in the office joined them to observe and ask a few questions regarding the antidote. He was annoyed at their impatience and wanted nothing then to announce that there was no cure just so he could watch the Minister’s reaction.

It seemed that Leach’s wife was one of the victims and the reason why the man had bags underneath his eyes. A pity.

* * *

 

_September 1966  
Location: Hogwarts, Near Slytherin Dungeons_

“My father will hear about this!” That phrase made Marcaunon’s lips twitch uncontrollably for a few seconds before he smoothen his expression into a serene mask. It seemed that Lucius and Draco Malfoy have the same bratty personalities when they were younger, including the most _infamous_ words of ‘ _My father will_ bloody _hear_ _about this’_.

He was already worried about his freedom after meeting Abraxas, and now he had to deal with Lucius?. If his son was here… A future confrontation between him and Voldemort would be inevitable once a letter to home is sent (he had tinkered with Abraxas’s mind a little on his way back from the Ministry). He would need to intercept Bleach-brat’s letters from now on.

He didn’t really have to worry about Bellatrix and Andromeda reporting back to their parents about anything, since he had skimmed through their mind and found out that they know nothing about his family name. It was a little odd for them not to know Slytherin’s descendants, but that could be Voldemort’s doing.

He never heard of any Blacks apart from Bellatrix inside of Voldemort’s inner circle. Maybe the Blacks didn’t support Voldemort since they know he’s a Half-blood…? Walburga attended school with Tom, didn’t she? If only he could ask his little Chaos about that!

He inwardly shook his head and focused back onto Bleach-brat.  

Marcaunon had yet to personally meet the boy; he wasn’t in the Sorting Ceremony since he was busy making more antidotes on the Headmaster’s request (order). Just as he turned the corner, he saw something he would have preferred to avoid.

Bleach-brat was being pinned to the wall by a fifth year Gryffindor. The location left much to be desired. The foolish Lion should have known better than to confront a Snake in its own territory. _Alone_.

Before he could wonder about the existence of bleach hair dye for wizards, the fifth year boy with chestnut colored hair and black eyes placed his wand underneath Malfoy’s chin. He had no choice but to intervene before anything escalates and Bleach-brat whines to daddy dearest –no need to have Abraxas visit Hogwarts just because of this little thing.

“What is going on here?” He questioned whilst narrowing his eyes at the Gryffindor. “And unhand him this instance!”

The red robed teen was quick to push away from Bleach-brat, as if disgusted, and looked sheepishly at Marcaunon.

“Professor.”

Bleach-brat fixed his collar and turned his nose upwards, looking down at them both. Oh the nerve of this brat! Only two minutes and he already made a first bad impression on Marcaunon. He was tempted to dunk the boy’s head in pink dye just because.

He ignored the urge in favor of staring both teens down. A few moments passed by and he could see them squirming under his unnerving gaze. Marchosias did say something about how creepy people thought their eye color (red) was.

“Jordon Lacer. What is a fifth year Gryffindor doing all the way down here in the dungeons… assaulting one of its inhabitants?”

“Err… I-it wasn’t my fault Professor! Malfoy here kept on calling me a M-m-mudblood!”

“And pray tell why you are in the dungeons whilst supposedly being at your Tower?”

Lacer had no answer and looked down, probably finding his shoes interesting.

“Ten points from Gryffindor for the inability to follow instructions thoroughly, Mr. Lacer.”

He gaze was still sharp on Lacer. The teen intended to inflict damage on one of his Snakes just because the Bleach-brat called him what his _species_ were usually called? Ignorant fool.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see that Bleach-brat was expecting him to give Lacer a detention as well. Oh he would be giving detentions alright.

“Ten points from Slytherin for that comment, Mr. Malfoy.” The brat did a double take and gap at him inelegantly. It was expected that a normal eleven year old not having much self-control –unlike his son– over their reaction and tend to give way too much.

“What!? How dare you take points from me! Don’t you know who I am?” The brat sneered at him. Even Marchosias could sneer better at the puny age of four. “Wait till my father hears about this!”

“Another five points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy. Does your _father_ not teach you respect?” He mocked with a polite closed eye smile.

Bleach-brat looked gobsmacked and was about to retort yet _again_. Oh he would not risk his House Cup –Slytherin had won for three consecutive years– just because this bloody brat could not keep his mouth shut. The solution was to interrupt before he accumulates to a negative hundred point in day one.

“And for you, Mr. Lacer… Twenty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a first year.” Hah! Now Gryffindor has negative thirty! But seriously, the first day and already he had handed out point deductions.

“B-b-but! But Malfoy insulted me! He used the _M_ _word_ at me!” Lacer waved his hands towards the brat. M word… Marcaunon recalled how his dear uncle used to say that in reference to Magic.

“No excuses Mr. Lacer. For even pointing a wand at a first year who knows no spells–“

He was rudely interrupted and could feel a tick forming on his temple.

“He’s a Dark Wizard! He’s evil like every other slimy snake sorted into Slytherin! He of course knows tons of Dark spells to counter me!”

“Does that give you an excuse to point your weapon at an un-armed child? Just because you _assume_ that he learnt Dark Arts from his parents?” He cut in and the boy held in a flinch. Marcaunon continued on mercilessly.

“Are you also accusing me of being an evil overlord as I am Head of House for _evil_ slimy snakes?” His smile turned feral and could see that Lacer had paled, forgetting that he was indeed the Head of Slytherin. “Another twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a Professor, Mr. Lacer.”

He would be expecting a visit from Minerva this evening it seems. Bleach-brat was looking at him with wide eyes, ashamed that his own Head had taken points from him on the very first day.

“Detention with Mr. Apollyon Pringle next Sunday. The both of you. Return to your respective common room, and follow me Mr. Malfoy.”

Before they could even open their mouths, he turned around swiftly and glided down the dungeons; his cloak billowing behind him similar to a certain dungeon bat. Sometimes he regretted being a Professor, teaching dunderheads and hormone filled teenagers that think only with their lower region were awfully tiring.

He heard tiny soft footsteps behind him. At least the brat had followed him without another prompting. The brat cleared his throat.

“I apologize for my unsightly behavior. May I ask for your name, Professor?”

“Marcaunon Gaunt. I sincerely hope you have a good explanation as to why you were not in our common room?”

“G-gaunt…?” Bleach-brat whispered to himself in disbelief.

“Mr. Malfoy, I’m still awaiting an answer. I do not have all day for you to gather what little of your intellect together.”  

“P-pardon me Professor Gaunt. I was on my way to visit our Head of the House, you actually.”

“May I ask why you didn’t wait in the common room? I would be giving first years their welcoming speech right about now.”

“It was personal.”

“…Very well. I expect you to follow quickly after my speech. Parseltongue.”

They entered the common room and he waved for Bleach-brat to join his fellow First Years. He stood in front of them, a serene expression on his face. Outside of Slytherin, he would always be the cheerful and friendly Professor, but with his Snakes, he demanded absolute respect from them with narrowed eyes and death glares. The upper years know of course, but First years are always questioning him because of his masks. His acting was too brilliant it seems.

“I am your Head of House and also Potions’ Professor, Marcaunon Gaunt. If you are in need of help or even a person to talk to, feel free to seek me out… I will not turn any of you away –we take care of our own. The Password will be changed weekly, and I or one of my prefects will announce it in the common room the day before the change –most of the time after dinner.” He made eye contact with each person, pausing only for dramatic effect.

“I welcome you all to the greatest of the Hogwarts’ four, and commend you for your cunning and ambitious nature. There are, of course certain expectations that will need to be followed within Slytherin.” He gave them all his signature closed eye smile.

“All confrontations will be done within these walls and never outside the House. If it escalates, I expect one of you to fetch me, lest you lose a limb or two… permanently. Always assume that your fellow Snakes have the same or more knowledge regarding Arts that are left questionable at best.” He could see majority of them swallowing but kept their expression blank. Good.

“Always remain in groups to show a united front. The other Houses –especially Gryffindors– would prefer tossing you lot into the Forbidden Forest rather than letting you attend classes with them. Refrain yourselves from being a tyrant and commenting on your schoolmate’s blood purity –or lack thereof.” He smirked when the little eleven year olds snickered into their palms at his jab on Mudbloods. “Some will use wands rather than words when humiliated, so take heed and make a tactical retreat when threatened. I would rather my Snakes be cowards than land themselves in the infirmary.”

He paced slowly, with his hands behind his back, in front of his newest collection of Snakes as he let them absorb the fact that he needed them to have self-preservation instincts to survive in Hogwarts.

“Also, I would advise you to check for potions and poisons before consuming anything edible. You may think Hufflepuffs as the left-overs, but if any of them were to be bullied by one very foolish Snake –no matter which year, the whole of Slytherin will have their food be infected by fungi and viruses.” Many of them paled and he gave a feral grin.

“There will be rumors about how I was once a Hufflepuff, and I will tell you now that all those were regrettably true. I was placed there for reasons I will not disclose to you, but let me warn you… Show me disrespect and even sleep will come difficult for you. Remember that Honey Badgers have a tendency to eat live snakes, my cute little Serpents.”  

Marcaunon released a small portion of his (very) Dark Magic, potent enough to make them breathless but not enough to bring them to their knees. He observed how the majority of them trembled in pleasure as their eyes glazed over and stood on shaky legs. Without even a change of expression, he suppressed his Magic and smiled dangerously at them. 

“Let this be a reminder to you all that I will not tolerate rule-breakers in my House. Never be tardy and if anyone dares to lose more than fifty points… My prefects will show you to your sleeping quarters.” With that, he motioned Bleach-brat to keep up as made his exit, leaving behind a group of Magic-frenzied firsties.

_OOOO_

“Mo–… Dad. Who’s this?” He stopped halfway from calling Macaunon Mother when he spotted mini-Lucius eyeing Salazar’s portrait.

“Chaos dear, please take Mr. Malfoy to my office. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” His mother said as he head towards their bedchamber. The door clicked close, leaving only the two children staring at one another.

He turned on his heels and made his way towards his mother’s office where Slytherins would often come when they were being bullied or in need of help. He didn’t bother checking to see if mini-Lucius followed. He opened the door and rounded the desk. He sat with elegance on the chair behind it, whilst motioning for mini-Lucius to take a seat in front of him.

Once he did, Marchosias smirked whilst mini-Lucius sneered.

“What’s your relation to Professor Gaunt?” The blonde dared to _demand_. Marchosias narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Does your pitiful excuse of a mind not recall my calling of him _Dad_?” He mocked as the Malfoy heir sputtered in indignity.

“I was merely confirming! Who’re you?”

“Is it not polite to introduce yourself before asking? Or have you not been taught proper etiquette by daddy dearest?” Mini-Lucius was up on his feet in a second and pointing his wand at Marchosias.

He didn’t even blink and tilted his head to the side –a habit he gained from his mother. The door opened silently and he saw Marcaunon freeze at the sight of him being threatened (as if) by mini-Lucius.

“Mr. Malfoy… What in Merlin’s bloody sacks do you think you’re doing!?” Mother growled out and mini-Lucius paled. He was probably remembering Marcaunon’s welcoming speech. It was rather intimidating. “Put your wand away before you accidently poke my son’s eye out.”

He observed how the Malfoy heir pocketed his wand and apologized stiffly to both him and his mother. Marcaunon rubbed the bridge of his nose and made his way towards Marchosias, making shooing motions for him to get off his seat.

He huffed and did so, but took a seat on his mother’s lap afterwards. Marcaunon didn’t seem to mind and hugged Marchosias closer to his chest.

“Take a seat, Mr. Malfoy, and you better have a good explanation for your violent behavior, lest I take more points from you.” Oh? So mini-Lucius already placed Slytherin in the negative point zone?

“I… Your son insulted me, sir–“

He zoned out (but still keeping an ear open since this could prove to be blackmail material) as he played with one of his mother’s summer azure butterflies. They were a pretty bluish-white in color and he always wondered why they flocked around Marcaunon. He had of course let his curiosity get the better of him and asked if his mother had placed nectar on his person. The results made him wince internally at the phantom pain on his head where a bump used to be and tugged on the butterfly’s wings.  

Another curious thing was that no matter how hard he pulled, these flying insects were unbreakable. They didn’t even seem bothered that he tried to detach their wings from them. Knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, he started pulling the antennas next.

The butterfly in hand started squirming and he tilted his head in curiosity. Unbreakable, but pulling the antennas bring them slight discomfort. He continued pulling and tied the two into a knot. The butterfly soon became disoriented and fell from his palm and onto the floor, much to his amusement.

His nose was flicked lightly in warning by his mother at his animal abusive tendencies and he shrugged. At least his mother’s butterflies were indestructible. Once again, he was curious why the butterflies didn’t seem to die even after years of being with them –weren’t their lifespans short?

With only a thought, another butterfly landed onto his palm. He was amused at how these tiny brain insects know when Marchosias called them to him.

This time he unrolled its proboscis and curled it around his finger. If butterflies had faces, it would be scowling at him right now. He made an amused sound from the back of his throat and continued to play with the butterfly, not minding how childlike he was acting.

“–having taken twenty five points from you. If you continue losing me points, I would force the hat to resort you into Gryffindor, Mr. Malfoy.” Now that was an amusing thought. A Malfoy in Gryffindor was like putting a butterfly with the bees. They won’t last long that’s for sure. “Let me re-introduce to you my son, Mr. Malfoy. Marchosias say hi to Lucius.”

“Hi Lucius.” He greeted cutely as he shoved the butterfly to the physically elder child’s outstretched hand. Like hell he would shake his (future) minion’s hand.  

Mini-Lucius looked confused and before his mother could warn him, the butterfly attacked the child with zeal. Its companions all fluttered towards the terrified blonde and Marchosias laughed cruelly as mini-Lucius was covered head to toe by them.

He heard Marcaunon whisper something about _‘dastard child’_ and decided to ignore his mother in favor of watching mini-Lucius squirm like the worm he is.

* * *

 

_1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon’s Study_

“Death?”

“You called, Master?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong… But isn’t Damocles Belby the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion?”

“You are indeed correct, Master.”

“Then why is it that he died seventeen hours ago from a potion’s explosion?”

“Different dimension.”

“Well… I could always pretend to invent the potion… But I don’t really want to bring unwanted (Voldemort’s) attention onto myself. A potion that relieves the symptoms of lycanthropy is quite noteworthy.”

“Relieves symptoms? But Master, didn’t you achieve in creating a cure for lycanthropy when you saw your Godson miserable back then?”

“Indeed…”

“Master could always create another identity… perhaps an anagram?”

“… Death you’re a genius!”

“I try.”

_OOOO_

He stalked his way through the halls as he thought about his name. It was difficult and he couldn’t think of anything cool, unlike Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle, I am Lord Voldemort. How bloody awesome is that? He wished he had Lord in his name.

Marcaunon sighed and grumbled at how unfair life was… before he remembered that Marchosias was actually Tom Riddle. If he could think of such a cool anagram for himself, he could definitely think of an amazing one for Marcaunon!

With that thought in mind, he bounced towards the library in search for his bookworm of a son.

Lo and behold, a small figure was dwarfed by stacks upon stacks of books. Marcaunon could only shake his head in wonder.

“Marchosias?” His boy looked up with annoyance, but smiled when he was that it was Marcaunon calling him. 

“Yess Dad?”

“Are you busy?”

“No, not at all. Anything the matter?” His boy tilted his head cutely to the side.

“I am in need of… assistance.” He said the last word with a grimace, as if he swallowed a raw lemon. Marchosias closed his book (without marking) to pay full attention to Marcaunon. “I am unable to think of a nice anagram for myself.”

Whilst Marcaunon was talking, he didn’t notice his son choking on his own spit. His boy cleared his throat.

“Why would you require an… anagram, Father?”

“I created a cure for lycanthropy.” Marchosias nodded with ease, but he could see how shocked his boy was. “And I prefer not being known by… someone.”

“Well… Alright… Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt… Hmm…”

“I’m actually thinking to remove my first name. In case anyone figured out it’s an anagram.” Voldemort would.

“Then Seirios Gaunt only?”

“Yess…”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes before Marchosias lit up.

“How about Ignatius Rose?”

“… That isn’t half bad… But why Rose? It sounds… girly.”

“Father… Please extend your hair and look into the mirror.”

Marcaunon scowled at his boy and crossed his arms with a huff. Ignatius Rose… It wasn’t a bad name. It’s similar to Ignotus Peverell and he recalled reading about someone named Ignatius Theophorus, or Ignatius of Antioch.

“It’s… a good name. Thank you my dearest.” He kissed his son’s forehead before bouncing off towards his personal lab. He had a potion to brew.

* * *

 

_October 1967  
Location: Ministry of Magic, Department of Inventions_

 “T-this is poison!” The head of the department, Albert Storm, declared with accusing eyes.

“Once again, I assure you it is not, Mr. Storm. This potion is a suppressor of sorts.”

Marcaunon had changed his mind as soon as the Headmaster saw him brewing a potion. He knew that if Dumbles found out he had invented an _absolute cure_ for Lycanthropy, he would force werewolves to drink the potion as a rule. They were Dark in his ever twinkling blue eyes.

It was unacceptable and for now, he would present to the Wizarding community the next best thing. He had already explained it to Marchosias, and his son agreed with him –Dumbles would definitely make a bill on that once it gets out.  

“Forgive me for not believing you, Mr. Rose. But surely you can see that Aconite is a very poisonous substance.”

He was beginning to tire of this repeated conversation.

“Firecall a competent Potions’ Master to ask their opinion.” For the love of…

“Perhaps…” The mouse of a man proceeded to firecall and Marcaunon wanted to castrate him there and then. He had already demanded for Storm to call a Master for their opinion, when he arrived. But noooooo~ Stubborn bastard.  

Soon, a woman with dark wavy hair that reached mid back with grey eyes, face full of make-up and pale skin came out from the fireplace. Marcaunon discreetly perched his rose-tinted glasses atop his nose and messed his hair so it was covering most of his face.

It was Vevila Malfoy née Lestrange, Abraxas Malfoy’s bloody wife. What bad luck! First it was Malfoy Sr, then Bleach-brat and now this woman.

He could sense Voldemort’s enticing Dark magic on Malfoy’s left forearm and resisted the urge to reach out and caress the Dark Mark. He could visualize how the Serpent tattoo would hiss at him in pleasure as he mixed their Magic together –oh so very tempting.

“Madam Malfoy, so glad you could make it. I would like your opinion on this potion, if you will.” Storm said joyfully whilst handing Marcaunon’s vial over to Malfoy. It took quite long for her to examine the potion.

“I am… unsure of what this is.”

“Is it poison, Madam Malfoy?” He asked with a soft smile on his features.

She stared evenly back at Marcaunon and replied with caution after a few more minutes of testing. At least she was professional.

“No. It looks to be poison, but the effect was counteracted.”

Marcaunon turned towards Storm and bared his teeth into a more feral smile. His patience with this man was already thinned.

“Did I not say that already, Mr. Storm?”

“Y-yes you did… But you’re still young and could be mistaken–“

“I have already gotten my Mastery, Mr. Storm.”

“Well… Why don’t you tell me the exact details to your invention and we’ll test it out and see if it’s good enough to receive an Order of Merlin.”

Good enough…? GOOD ENOUGH!? Oh for Merlin’s sake! His brewing skills are top class whilst the potion itself was used in his old dimension. His anger meter was beginning to rise at an _epic_ rate.

“I assure you it will be… good enough… for your _Order of Merlin_.” He gritted his teeth and gave the man a deranged smile. Storm looked paler but he didn’t care. He was beyond pissed.

“It’s called Wolfsbane. Aconite and Hellebore would counteract each other whilst retaining their basic components, thus this is not a _poison_ ,” He spat the last word, loving how Storm had flinched at his murderous tone. “Bloodroot would force the drinker to remain calm, whilst Moonstone would allow for balanced emotions and in combination with Ginger Roots would repress natural impulses. Liquid Silver is not actually a liquidity state, but mercury, and its attribute are _very_ different even to be the exact opposite.”

“A suppressor…? Not for a human, but for the instincts of an animal?” Madam Malfoy questioned in astonishment. Her Slytherin mask dropped a little and allowing Marcaunon to see the greed, respect, and something he couldn’t identify in those grey orbs.

“Indeed. Wolfsbane does not cure, but relieves the symptoms of Lycanthropy. It allows one to hold onto their mental facilities after transformation… However it can be disastrous if not brewed correctly.”

“Has it been tested?”

“In theory, it should work.”

Marcaunon was given a parchment entailing the things that would be done and whilst he was reading, he was oblivious to Madam Malfoy’s eyes roaming his body and those grey orbs darkened with desire.

* * *

Rainbows and Fungus,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Dinner, and Dates**

* * *

 

_January 1967_  
 _Location:_ _Hogwarts_

In the dimly lit dungeon, Marcaunon squinted as he stirred the concoction absentmindedly, lost in his thoughts.

Before he had started mixing weird ingredients for this particular _brew_ , he found an old blue notebook he had once used when he was physically around six years old, by accident. He remembered how he had stared at those grey walls in the orphanage so much that he wanted something to do –apart from his failure of good deeds.

Whilst he may be old in mind, he was young in body and it affected his mental state, actions and emotions. As much as it frustrates him so, he was childish and impulsive (he went hunting almost constantly to satisfy his impulses). When he could take no more wall watching, he started doodling on one of the deathfiles (Death had given him a five hour lecture when It found out), just for something to do. He drew dementors, unicorns, phoenixes, and lastly, a bottle of Liquid luck –or Felix Felicis.

The golden bottle made him think – if wizards could bottle luck, why could they not bottle other similar things? He wrote down all the ingredients and their properties, try to mix them up and see if he could create new potions.

Back to the present, he stopped his stirring and wiped his sweaty forehead –the fumes could melt skin. His concoction was silvery white in color, with droplets leaping out at random intervals, similar to that of a fish jumping out of its bowl. It seemed to be the correct color, if what he had written in theory was true.

Similar to Felix Felicis, this potion is highly toxic when consumed in large quantities. If everything is perfect, he would recommend this potion to _only_ be used when in the face of dementors –a back up plan if they could not make a proper Patronus charm due to their incompetence.

Marcaunon placed his wand above the concoction.

“Laetifixempra [1].” He whispered the spell he had invented just for this particular potion.

The cauldron shook for a few seconds, before it abruptly halted to a stop. Silvery wisp of smoke rose from the concoction and he pocketed his wand. The cauldron contained a mixture of teal, almost seemed like silky electricity.

He accio-ed a large empty jar, as big as his head, and bottled the concoction. Marcaunon blinked when he felt his sleeve being tugged, and looked at the disturbance. He would test it afterwards.

“Chaos. Weren’t you with Mana and Suki?” He looked at Marchosias in confusion as he brushed his knuckles gently over his son’s cheek.

“Both are sleeping at the moment. There’s a… guest waiting for you in the office.” Marchosias had a blank expression on his face, but Marcaunon had a feeling that he was thinking murderous thoughts.

“Who?” He casted an unbreakable charm on the glass jar before shoving it carelessly inside his expandable bag strapped on his right thigh.

“Malfoy. He’s been coming here a lot lately.” Marchosias stated coldly as they walked to his office. The unasked question and the way he said it made alarm bells ring inside Marcaunon’s head. 

“Yess… Potions is not one of his best subjects and he requested that I tutor him.”

“Is that so…” There was a glint in those ruby eyes and Marcaunon choose to ignore it in favor of opening the door.

Bleach-brat was sitting in front of his desk, patiently waiting for his arrival. The brat smiled but it turned into a scowl when he saw Marchosias walking in behind him.

“Professor Gaunt.”

“Mr. Malfoy.” He rounded his desk and sat on his cushioned armchair. “We just had our session the previous day.”

“Yes, I apologize for intruding.”

“No harm done.”

“My mother…” Bleach-brat began, “has extended a dinner invitation to you and your family, Professor.”

“Your mother? Hmm… Ah yes, Madam Vevila Malfoy. I’ve heard she is a renowned Potions’ Mistress.” He recalled meeting her when he was Ignatius –it was not easy to forget a woman who wore layers upon layers of make-up on her face, as well as heavy perfumes on her robes (did she have to cover her body odour or something).

“Quite. Mother has heard much about you from father and would like to get to know a fellow Master in the arts of Potion Making. She was deeply impressed by your ingenious in creating the Poison-blood antidote within only a few hours back in August last year.”

“And when would this… dinner invitation be?” He drawled with a tilt of his head.

“Next weekend.”

“Hmm… Chaos?” He turned to his son, who was sitting on his lap with an unreadable expression. It was Marchosias’s decision since it would be on a Sunday after all.

“We should accept –it would be impolite to refuse after all, father.”

“Very well.” He gazed at Bleach-brat with a smile, “Please inform Madam Malfoy our acceptance to her invitation.”

“Mother would most definitely be pleased.” The brat placed a small silver statue of a peacock on his desk. “The portkey will active at exactly half past six.”

“Is there anything else you wish to say, Lucius?” Marchosias questioned tonelessly when Bleach-brat made no move to leave.

Bleach-brat’s left brow twitched at how casually Marchosias spoke his name but shook his head after a moment of hesitation.

“No. Please excuse me, Professor.” He excused himself and left.

The both of them were silent as Marcaunon played with his son’s hair –it was a wonder how Marchosias could tame the mess when Marcaunon himself could not.

“Chaos?”

His boy stayed silent and Marcaunon grew worried. The last time he was this silent, his butterflies were all tied up on a stick and being roasted inside the fireplace. Not wanting a repeat of that incident, he turned his six, going seven year old child to face him.

“What’s wrong, little one? Is your stomach hurting?” He whispered gently.

“… Just tired, mother.”

“Alright…” He sighed. “But you know you could always tell me anything right?”

“I know.”

He kissed his son’s cheek and hummed to himself. He would have to be prepared just in case. Marchosias was unpredictable at times –and that made him dangerous.

* * *

 

_January 1967  
Location: Hogwarts_

Marcaunon frowned at his reflection as he tried to tame his wild hair. As usual, he was wearing black, and the only part of his skin that was seen was only his face (his fringe had grown longer and usually curtained his eyes). He made a sound of frustration and ignored the silent shuffling of someone entering his bedchamber.

“Mother?” He turned to look at his son. Unlike Marcaunon, his hair was combed to the side neatly. His boy was wearing the exact same clothing as him, apart from the color –which was dark blue, almost black. “Are you done yet?”

“My hair refuses to stay flat!” He huffed and crossed his arms petulantly. “ _How_ do you manage yours?”

His boy deadpanned and brought out a small silver peacock statue.

“Flat hair does not suit you.”

“But it suits you… and you take after me in appearance.”

“Mother, stop being delusional.” Marchosias rolled his eyes. “People do not confuse my gender at first glance.”

He scowled at his boy. He hated it when people mistake his gender –mainly due to his androgynous appearance.

“That’s because you’re still covered in extra adipose tissues.”

“… Are you calling me fat?”

“Yess.”

He disregarded the glare that was sent his way and turned towards the two whining serpents –as much as a snake can whine.

**_“Hush.”_** He hissed exasperatedly, “ ** _And_** **_for the last time, we will not bring you both along!”_**

**_“But who will protect you, Master?”_** Suki questioned worriedly.

**_“Do you doubt my strength?”_** He narrowed his eyes.

Before another hissing match could start, Marchosias intervened.

“Madam Malfoy may recognize those.”

“… I suppose you’re right.” He reluctantly removed his rose tinted glasses and squinted when the world became full of colors again.

**_“Let me accompany you, Chaos.”_** Manasa hissed as she slithered towards Marchosias.

His boy only stared at him with those wide ruby eyes. Marcaunon faltered –it was Marchosias’s own version of the wretched _puppy dog eyes_. It was adorable, yet equally disturbing (we’re talking about junior Voldemort here).

**_“Fine!”_** He conceded, **_“But don’t expect a reply from us. The Malfoys can never know of our abilities.”_** He warned the two snakes.

The two cheered and Marcaunon resized them to fit perfectly around his and his son’s shoulders –they actually made good accessories, looking very much like a scaly infinity scarves. He scooped Marchosias onto his hip and held out the portkey. They waited for a minute, and disappeared after feeling a tug inside their navel.

They appeared without flaw in his landing. The room they were in was familiar to the both of them –the floo room in Malfoy Manor. There were vases and paintings of sceneries around, a few tables, armchairs and a divan near the fireplace.

“Professor.” They turned to Bleach-brat who had just entered. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor… You too, little menace.” The last part was said in a whisper and Marcaunon pretended to be oblivious, whilst Marchosias gave Bleach-brat a deadly glare (and probably thinking about ways to eviscerate Lucius, preferably with his bare hands).  

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Lucius. Let me escort you to our dining area.”

With Marchosias still on his hip, he followed behind Bleach-brat. The two of them were silent, only listening to the brat as he blabbered about the other Malfoy Portraits when they walked past. He remembered how this very Manor had been raided and destroyed by the Ministry.

Draco had all but crawled to him with holes in his torso, dropping to his knees just to _beg_ Harry to protect his son from those Light Wizards –Malfoy may be prideful, but his schoolboy rival would toss it away for his family. He of course had agreed, but Scorpius followed his family to their graves only a month afterwards. The teenager could not get over his grief and AK-ed himself after taking revenge on those who killed his parents. A waste since the blonde had potential.

He was brought out from his musings when they entered the dining area, Lord and Madam Malfoy stood waiting for them.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Professor Gaunt.” Lord Malfoy greeted with a polite smile on his face as they shook hands. “This is my wife, Vevila.”

He took Madam Malfoy’s offered hand and kissed the air above her knuckles.

“A pleasure, Madam Malfoy.”

“Likewise, Professor Gaunt.” Those cupid bow red lips curved into a weird smile.

They were led to their seats and all sat, with Lord Malfoy at the head, Marcaunon to his right and Marchosias just beside. Lady Malfoy sat at the opposite of Marcaunon whilst Bleach-brat was beside her.

“Thank you for the invitation, Madam Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Vevila.” Her lashes fluttered uncontrollably as she spoke –was something wrong with her eyes? “I’ve been hearing only good things about you from Abraxas and Lucius. Is he your son, Professor Gaunt?”

“Yess… Introduce yourself, little one.” He didn’t want to give the woman permission to call him by his first name. What if Lord Malfoy thought he was flirting with his wife?

Marchosias tucked a wayward strand behind his ear and smiled at the two adult Malfoys cutely.

“Marchosias Gaunt, delighted to make your acquaintances, Lord Malfoy, Madam Malfoy.” It seemed to him that they will be seeing more Malfoys in the near future. He wondered about Chaos’s sudden interest in them –he always antagonized Bleach-brat just so they could be left alone.

“My, what a polite and adorable young man you have, Professor Gaunt.”

_OOOO_

“Thank you –“

Marchosias tuned them out as he narrowed his eyes at the bint (he couldn’t really recall her usefulness when he was Voldemort). She was clearly flirting with his (rather oblivious) mother, occasionally leaning forward so those useless fats on her chest would be more notable. Oh how he was tempted to cut them off and force those down her throat.

The food was already on the table and his mother was absentmindedly piling them on a plate for him. Marchosias turned towards Abraxas, one of the most ruthless in his inner circle, and resisted the urge to slap the man –he was sipping his wine elegantly, not minding the behavior his slut of a wife was exhibiting.

In fact, the man was staring at Marcaunon’s face with an almost eager look in those grey eyes. Marchosias frowned in confusion, before realization hit –he could have slapped himself as he remembered the fact that Abraxas was indeed _infatuated_ with Tom Riddle. Marcaunon was a softer and shorter version of Tom Riddle –and that was enough reason for Abraxas to _desire_ his mother.

He was _not_ sharing his mother with anybody, _especially_ Malfoys.

His hands twitched on his lap as he tried to reign in his anger –twirling his yew wand was a habit of his when agitated (normally came with a crucio being thrown around without restrain). With murderous thoughts circling inside his mind, he almost missed the presence of a house elf.

“Snake Lordy waiting at Master Lord Malfoy sir study.” The house elf squeaked as it (he did not care of the gender) twirled its ears in its hands nervously.

“Abraxas? Did you invite _him_ here?” The bint asked with a slight narrowing of her eyes. Marchosias wanted nothing then to carve them out of their socket.

“I have not. Please excuse me, Professor Gaunt.” Abraxas gracefully stood and walked out.

“Forgive my husband, Professor… He usually only excuses himself if _that_ person comes.”

“The person must be important.”

“Indeed… He used to be the King of Slytherin back when we were both in Hogwarts.”

Marchosias idly wondered who had taken his place as King back in the 40s –since he was born late and as another person.

“Oh?” His mother raised a curious brow. “I’ve always thought that Lord Malfoy was the King in his schooldays.”

The bint giggled whilst she batted her lashes.

“I’m sure Abraxas would be pleased that you thought so highly of him… But no, he wasn’t. That person became King when he was in his Fourth Year.”

“My… What an amazing feat.”

Marchosias was confused. He only knew one person in the entire history of Slytherin who became King in Fourth Year –him.

“Indeed. He was charming and powerful, though not a pureblood.” There was barely concealed disgust in her tone.

A theory was formed, and it _chilled_ him to the bone. It _never_ crossed his mind that there would be a Tom Riddle already existing and _he_ was the extra –the spare. He was in a parallel universe, and alternate dimension. Marchosias would need to do some research once they’re back in Hogwarts.

“Really?” Marcaunon questioned curiously.

“Startling is it not? We used to think him a Mudblood, but he turned out to be a Half-blood instead!”

“A Half-blood?” Mini-Lucius exclaimed in shock. “Why would the House make someone with such lowly blood a King?”

His hands tightened around the goblet of pumpkin juice. The boy had no self-preservation skills and he wondered how mini-Lucius became his future right hand man.

“Lucius! Eat your food.” The bint scolded.

“… Yes mother.”

“He must be powerful to be chosen.” His mother idly said with a polite smile. “Though I can’t say much about the current Queen of Slytherin.”

“Queen?” Her grey eyes showed interest as she leaned further forward, and Marchosias would’ve hexed her if not for the table (she was already too close to Marcaunon for his liking). “I’ve never heard of there being a Queen before, only Kings.”

“Catrina Burke. She seduced her way to the top, unlike the other Kings –the ones that had power and were not afraid to broadcast it.”

Catrina… Ah yes, he remembered that slut (there’s one in this very room as well). The only reason why she became Queen was because of teenage hormones. If Magic did not flush out Muggle diseases, the sixteen year old teen would probably be carrying STD.

“Being controlled by their lower region?” He swirled his cup of pumpkin juice, watching the thick liquid slosh around in boredom. His mother didn’t notice how Marchosias had peered at the bint whilst he spoke. “Tsk, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Indeed… I’ve been trying to get others to overthrow her, but alas, her skills in bed made them all hesitate.” Marcaunon grimaced in disgust and he agreed. This generation of Slytherins was… a disgrace, and that’s putting it mildly.  

“Was that the reason why you’ve been slacking around in the common room these past few days?”

“I was not, as you so eloquent put it, _slacking around_.” His mother made a noise from the back of his throat as he tasted the wine. “I was finding evidence if they were all affected by a lust potion or something similar.”  

“They’re teenagers, guys at that, father. They only think with their di–“

“An inappropriate topic to be discussing with two underage Wizards, don’t you think so, Professor?” The bint interrupted. “But… _we_ could discuss it afterwards…” Her voice lowered as she smiled seductively with those pouty lips of her.

Marchosias twitched in his seat and made a quiet sound of disgust, whilst his mother nodded obliviously. Sometimes he wanted to hit Marcaunon for being so dense –but he was thankful as well. At least he won’t be getting a stepfather/mother (he still doesn’t know Marcaunon’s sexuality… since he’s asexual) anytime in the future, and he would prevent it at all cost.   

“My apologies. Did I make you uncomfortable, Lucius?” Marcaunon asked with an apologetic smile.

“N-not at all, Professor.” The brat was blushing as he ducked his head. Ah how innocent.

“Lucius would be uncomfortable with anything, father... Especially politics.” How such an imposing and brilliant politician be such a brat was beyond him.

“Excuse me?” Mini-Lucius sounded offended.

“You often have a hard time comprehending hidden meanings behind words with that puerile mind of yours.” A reason why he couldn’t take the title of _Prince of Slytherin_ in his first year –unlike Abraxas.

The brat’s face became red in anger and embarrassment, and Marchosias snorted into his pumpkin juice. How someone his age doesn’t know the word puerile is beyond him (he had brushed his future minion’s outer thoughts in curiosity).

“Why you bloody little bastar–“

“Lucius!” The bint looked scandalized as she shook her head in disapproval at her son. “I apologize for my son’s outburst… Really… Such language.”

“Oh you need not apologize, Vevila. Boys will be boys.” His mother chuckled and Marchosias marveled at the fact that it could sound so real even when those scarlet eyes darkened in anger. Marchosias himself knew that he was a bastard, but they both didn’t like it being broadcasted.  

“Yess… He is but a boy.” He smiled sweetly at the still red faced mini-Lucius.

The dinner continued in that manner, and it was enjoyable… to a certain extent of being able to insult Lucius without anyone apart from his mother knowing. Abraxas had all but disappeared –such a bad host, but he was placated (he had one less Malfoy at the table to deal with). When they arrived back at Hogwarts, Marchosias was surprised (and worried) when his mother had all but fallen to the ground, shaking like a leaf.   

 He didn’t know what to do but Mort appeared just as suddenly and ushered him out of the door with both Vasuki and Manasa in tow.

_OOOO_

“Master, calm down. Master!” He could hear Death’s soothing voice but he was too freaked out to notice that he had dropped to the ground.

Voldemort was in that Manor. It was by pure luck (a fucking close call!) that Abraxas didn’t mention that he and his family was having dinner with guests –obviously since Voldemort had not demanded who and had stormed inside the dining area. He didn’t know why he was not reported to Abraxas’s Master, but he would not look a gift thestral in the mouth. His nerves were on edge and he couldn’t concentrate much on what Madam Malfoy had talked about –he was glad that his acting skills were on par with a professional actor.

“D-d-death. He…” He chocked.

He felt arms around him and he shamelessly buried himself into Death’s embrace. It was nerve wrecking and he didn’t want a repeat, not so soon at least. Meeting Voldemort was inevitable, but he would prolong it as much as possible.

“Shh… It’s alright. Everything’s alright, Master.” He was rocked slowly by Death and could only nod weakly in respond.

* * *

 

_February 1967  
Location: Hogwarts_

“Professor!” He stopped in his track and waited for the person to catch up. A Ravenclaw teen bent down to catch her breath before straightening up and smiling shyly at him. “Sorry for bothering you Professor, but I made too much chocolate and wondered if you would like to try some.”

He looked at the heart shaped chocolates within the (heart shape) red box that the teen was holding and swallowed to keep himself from drooling –Marchosias would have his head. How the school found out his weakness for being a sweet tooth was beyond him, but he would not question it. He had received a lot of chocolates this day and he felt like he was in chocolate heaven.

“Is it really alright for me to try some?” He missed how the girl had flushed as he continued to stare at the treat presented to him.

“O-o-of course!” The Eagle passed him the box and excused herself (ran away) hurriedly.

Marcaunon paid no mind to the group of males that were chattering near him and plopped one into his mouth. His eyelids fluttered close and he moaned at the taste of chocolie goodness on his tongue. Perhaps he should try to get Albus (he was trying to stop his butchering at Dumbledick’s name in his mind, lest he say it out loud) to open a home economics class in the future.

He licked the excess chocolate on his lips and continued his way to the Great Hall, oblivious to the blushes and hard-ons he had caused the group by how _inappropriate_ he had sounded (and looked).

_OOOO_

The food in front of him was ignored by him in favor of chucking chocolates into his mouth (gracefully). His colleagues all looked at him in exasperated fondness as he childishly opened yet another box of chocolate –all had hearts decorating them or _Love_ in cream writing meant nothing to him.   

“My… someone has a lot of admirers.” Sprout giggled into her hand as she nudged his side.

He threw her an annoyed glare and batted the offending elbow away.

“The students just made extras and wanted me to have some.” He explained as he licked the chocolate off his fingers. “Though I have to wonder if the majority of them prefer baking over potions.”

Sprout chocked on her pumpkin juice whilst other Professors suddenly froze in their place. They turned to him with a deadpanned look –even Albus!  

“M-marc!” She squeaked as she wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You mean to say that you don’t have any idea what today represents?”

“Well… Hogsmeade are on weekends are they not?” The head table was silent as they continued to stare at him like he was a mysterious new species of flobberworm. He frowned at them in return –he did not appreciate the looks sent his way by his fellow colleagues. “Wasn’t that the reason why the students all seemed to be in a good mood?”

Before any of them could answer him, Marchosias interrupted with solemnity, not even bothering to look up from his cup of pudding –coffee flavored of course.

“Father has always been dense.”

“Dense? That’s an understatement…” McGonagall stated, her eyes alight with mirth.

“I’m not dense!” He scowled at his son but the boy only snorted as he continued to eat his dessert.

“Wait a minute.” Sprout cut in as she tapped his shoulder. “Does that mean you don’t know the reason as to why you received chocolate when we’re in school?”

“But Pomona, we’re _still_ in school.”

“When we’re students, Marc! Honestly…”

“They figured out that I like chocolate, thus the gifts.” He stated seriously, not knowing why she looked annoyed, or the reason why the other Professors were laughing at him.

“… Forget it!” She crossed her arms. “Now I know why little Marchosias is so mature.”

“Are you implying that I’m immature?”

“I’m not implying.” She took a goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips. “I’m stating a fact.”

He scowled at her, clearly offended. He was not immature, and the reason why Marchosias was wise beyond his physical age is all due to the memories of being Tom Riddle and Voldemort. With a huff, he grabbed another piece of chocolate and sulkily took a bite.

“P-professor?” All the Professors at the head table looked up when a girl, probably a seventh year, called out. “Professor Gaunt, I mean.” She smiled sheepishly and the others turned back to their meal.

“Yess?”

“Well.. Uhm… I h-heard from one of my friends that you were going to Hogsmeade today to buy some ingredients…”

“I am.” He raised a questioning brow.

“I was wondering if–“ she cleared her throat awkwardly and began fumbling with her purple sweater. “If I could tag along…”

His brow rose higher. Why would she want to follow an old man to shop for his ingredients?

“I mean! Because my supplies… they’re uhh… I mean… friends… busy and th-the…”

Pomona interrupted, taking pity on the Gryffindor –House of bravery? Really?

“I think what she’s trying to say is, Marc, that she needs to restock her potions’ supply.” He only looked confused at Sprout. So what if this girl needed to restock? Sprout only shook her head with a sigh. “She would like to, as she put it, _tag along_ , since her friends are probably busy… Isn’t that right sweetie?”

“Y-yes! That’s exactly right, Professor Sprout!”

“Well…” Sprout was giving him a look and he sighed inwards. “Of course you may.”

“Thank you, Professor Gaunt! When will you be leaving?” She smiled broadly, still red faced.

“An hour’s time. I’ll be waiting at the entrance doors.”

She nodded with a grin and skipped towards her table –a group of giggling girls patted her back as if to congratulate her, on what he didn’t know.

“Father…” Marchosias’s cold voice made many of the Professors turn to him, never hearing that tone before. “Did you know exactly _what_ … you agreed on?”

“Shopping together?”

His boy only stared blankly at him, and then at Sprout, before he stood up to leave.

“I’ve finished.” Marchosias left the Great Hall without even a wink of emotion on his face –which freaked a lot of people out since his boy was always smiling politely.

“Marc…?” Sprout whispered beside him.

“Hm?” He absentmindedly replied as he picked another chocolate to eat.

“Is your offer on brewing for me a batch of poison detecting potion still standing?”

“It is. May I ask why?” He asked curiously with a tilt of his head.

“Just taking precaution.” She whispered, her eyes not leaving the double doors of the Great Hall.

_OOOO_

“Professor! Sorry, did I make you wait long?”

He turned towards the direction of the voice and spotted the Gryffindor running to him –she was holding her leather purse with one of her glove clad hands whilst the other waved at him. She wore a scarlet mink coat (it matched his eyes actually) that reached just past her knees, with a black belt around her waist, and leggings underneath. Her choice of shoes made Marcaunon raise a sceptic brow but he kept quiet –the heels on her calf-length boots were high, causing her height to match his.

He was confused as to why she decided to dress up when she could just go to Hogsmeade in her uniform, but he didn’t bother to question the enigmatic creatures named women. They would always remain a mystery to him.

He found out that she was called Emma Marrone from Sprout after they had finished their meal. The Gryffindor had short chin length blonde hair, straight and positioned to fall gracefully to her right side. It was not a hairstyle he had expected to see during the 60s, but how would he know if Parasites had taken a liking to that particular style of hair after a few decades and decided to make it a trend.

Her chocolate eyes were aligned with black liner (luckily it wasn’t too thick or he would have to avoid eye contact) that was framed by thick fake curly lashes. Her round face, button nose, and cupid lips made her appearance considered _cute_ in overall –if he was other guys that is.

“Not at all, Ms. Marrone, I just arrived myself.” He smiled and offered his arm to her –Sprout had told him that it was easier to keep an eye on her when they were shopping this way.

Emma turned red but linked her arms with his offered one in a hurry –almost like a starved dog to steak actually. The comparison made him chuckle inwards as they began to walk. The distance from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade was not _that_ far and he rather enjoyed taking his time.  

The small talk they (she) made whilst on the way to the village was annoying, but he enjoyed the cool air on his cheeks –they were definitely red from the cold, perhaps he should’ve worn a mask or something.

He didn’t notice how the other students had stopped to stare at Emma in envy or wonder, thinking about all the chocolate he could be eating whilst he did his paperwork afterwards. Death wasn’t one to give him holidays (people die every day), and he planned to get an assistant ASAP.

He had already gotten the permission to pick his very own assistant from Albus a day ago. The days where he had passed out due to fatigue would be over soon, and this would make his son happier then him. Marchosias would always nag (not that that boy would admit it) at him to sleep, or eat more –and as much as it brings warmth to his every darkening heart, it was getting annoying as well.

His colleagues would look at him as if _he_ was the child, not Marchosias. His pride would take no more!

“Professor?” The Lioness’s voice snapped him out from his musings and he turned to her.

“Yess, Ms. Marrone?”

She ducked her head and pointed out that they were already at the apothecary in a small voice. He politely shrugged her arms off (not noticing her disappointed expression) and told her to get the items, but she should call him if there was a problem or when she was finished –bargaining for lower prices is one of his forte.

They both entered before separating. He took out his list and skimmed it a few times before collecting the needed ingredients. His scarlet eyes scanned the shelves masterfully, only wanting high quality items, not near expired shite.

He reached for the last jar of Acromantula eyes, not noticing another man beside him, and brushed against another customer’s hand that had reached for the jar as well. His hand retreated as quickly as possible, as if burnt, and turned to apologize, but froze for a split second before giving a polite smile.

The man had messy brown hair and hazel eyes. The face was a familiar one, except a few more laugh lines added in place. If Marcaunon was a lesser man, he would’ve thrown The Killing Curse at this person within a second of seeing him –screw the authorities. But luckily for this _Obliviator_ , his control is to _die_ for.

“My apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

Charlie, for he could not be mistaken as anybody else, was staring at him with wide eyes. The hazel eyed man gave a strained smile and chuckled rather forcefully.

“No worries. You can have it, I could always go to another shop.”

“Nonsense…” He shook his head, his raven hair floating before falling to frame his features. “You were here first.”

“W-well then, thank you.” Charlie took the jar and excused himself, walking, almost running away.

He only stared at the departing man as his face blanked. The feelings from that night returned and he clenched his fist tightly. He gave the man privilege to touch his body, and yet the only thing that bastard tried to do afterwards was to Obliviate him?

Never let anyone else say that Marcaunon could not hold a long-term grudge because he was sorted into Hufflepuff. He held grudges worse than Voldemort –and that’s saying something since his soul-brother had hunted him down for seventeen years, just to force him into making a Horcrux so that he could have a taste at being a bodiless floating thing until he was revived to be permanently killed. Yes, Voldemort was that spiteful (petty)… but so was he.

He turned away slightly, but kept Charlie in his sight. A woman with Black features tapped Charlie on his shoulder before she leaned into him. Marcaunon could see that they were obviously a couple. He idly wondered if he should torture that woman in front of his one night bed partner before killing him off.

“Professor I’m done.” His student announced and he smiled at her. “Are you?”

“Just a few more I’m afraid. Why don’t you queue up first? I’ll be there soon.”

After another ten minutes, they left the store and Emma pulled him into Three Broomstick. He had given his consent when she told him that her feet needed rest –it was her own fault for wearing such shoes, but he, being the polite Hufflepuff, didn’t say that of course.

He was content to continue keeping his mouth shut and drink his butterbeer, but Emma had other plans.

“Hey Professor?” She tilted her head and leaned forward. “Why did you choose to be a Professor?”

“I wasn’t planning on being one until perhaps I reached mid-twenties actually.” He confessed as he took a sip. “But Albus coincidently found me, and asked if I wanted to be a Professor since he was short of one.”

“How old are you, Professor?”

“Twenty-two.” He hummed. “Why the sudden curiosity, Ms. Marrone?”

“N-nothing! I just thought you were younger.”

“Oh?”

“Well… I thought you were… Well you look seventeen, perhaps eighteen, but you’ve been teaching since I was in my third year…” She looked down shyly. “I’ve always thought you were in your teenage years, and keep forgetting that you’re actually older.”

“Ah, a lot of people do, Ms. Marrone.” He chuckled.

 “Uhm.. Professor… I.. I want to tell you that I –“ She froze and suddenly stood up, attracting the attention of many, and startling those that were blatantly eavesdropping. “Excuse me for a moment!”

She all but ran to the ladies’ room, her heels clicking on the wooden floor noisily. He raised a brow but went back to drinking his butterbeer –at least he could get some peace for even a tiny moment.

He was impatient as he checked his pocket watch. Marchosias was probably waiting for him back at Hogwarts, but he was stuck with a Gryffindor that is still missing. It has already been thirty minutes since she fled to the lavatory, and he wondered if he should ask Madam Rosamert check on his student. As much as he hated being with her, she was still his student and it was his responsibility to keep her alive.

He called for the pub owner and Rosamert swaggered towards him, her hips moving side to side weirdly. Were all women like this?

“You called, gorgeous?” She winked.

“Do you mind helping me check on my student, Madam?” He asked, masking his face into one of worry. “She’s been in the ladies’ for at least half an hour.”

“Oh dear. Let me go take a look.” She walked off and he hid a grimace behind his butterbeer.

 Rosamert came back a few minutes afterwards and explained to him that Emma was having stomach problems, much to Marcaunon’s hidden amusement. Did she eat some laxatives or something? He took out a potion bottle and told Rosamert to pass it onto his student, which she accepted –her hand strayed too long on his fingers and he had the urge to sanitize his skin.

“I’m sorry Professor… I think it was something I ate.” Emma said miserably, her face pale and sweaty. “Could you apparate us back to Hogwarts please?”

“Of course…” He grabbed her around the waist and apparated them in front of Hogwarts’ gates.

He walked her to the infirmary and informed Madam Pomfrey of her problem. Being the worried teacher he is, he sat by the bedside and waited for Pomfrey to finish her diagnosis. The results made him and the Mediwitch confused. The results came out healthy, but the girl was obviously in pain.

Pomfrey shooed him away so that she could do more tests. He shrugged (inwards) and headed to the dungeons. On his way there he was stopped constantly by students giving him chocolate, and he almost squealed at the amount he has when he reached his chambers.

The Portrait of Salazar raised an amused brow and opened to give him entrance after they conversed for a little while.

“Chaos.” He greeted as he neared the fireplace.

“Mother. How was the trip?” His son smiled at him, looking far more sinister with the flames reflecting on his pale skin, shadowing much of his features. He paid it no mind and sat down beside his boy.

“Hmm…” Marcaunon pulled his boy onto his lap and buried his nose into those soft raven locks as he closed his eyes. “Tiring.”

“Tiring? I thought you were only buying ingredients?”

He tightened his grip on Marchosias as he recalled that bastard of a man. He would have his bloody revenge soon –a drooling mass of human lump coming right up.

“The girl dragged me into the Three Broomstick for a few mugs of butterbeer.” He sighed and snuggled into his son’s shoulder. “She made me wait half an hour for her… Stomach problems or something.”

“I see. You should rest for a bit before you start grading those essays.” Marcaunon groaned and continued to bury his head into his son’s shoulder, missing the smug and manic grin on his boy’s face. 

* * *

[1] Laetificans – Joyous/gladful

Rainbows and Laxatives,  
GenderlessPerson


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: _Never_ hurt one of ours, and the assistant**

* * *

 

_February 1967  
Location: Hogwarts _

It was safe to say that Marcaunon had always been a picky person –no matter if it’s about torture methods or constant company. His majestic mahogany desk was littered with opened folders, containing information, and photos.

Selecting an assistant was as enjoyable as dissecting a flobberworm, and Marcaunon would rather do the latter –at least there was gore, no matter how small. After he had sent out a newspaper clipping in search of an _experienced_ with Potions assistant, a lot of _Experts_ had owled him, and majority of them don’t even know the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane (he swore to himself that he would administer detention to any of his students that did not know they’re one and the same). No wonder Britain was made fun of when they competed in the IPC (International Potions’ Competition) last year.

With a frustrated groan, he closed his eyes and dug one random folder. He raised a brow at the person’s _selfie_ and skimmed through the person’s resume and working experience –it was decent enough and he could work with this. Not wanting to delay any longer, he wrote a short note, telling the person to come to Hogwarts for an interview the next day.

The walk to the owlery was peaceful –the children were busy watching a Slytherin vs Gryffindor quidditch match. Whilst he on the other hand, was having a day off due to a Potions’ accident (not his, mind you) that ruined his classroom –the elves are cleaning it this very moment. He scowled in remembrance, how anyone could cause an explosion when making an anti-paralysis potion was beyond him.

He now understood the constant frowns and permanent worry lines on his ex-Potions Professor’s face. He gave too little credit to the overgrown dungeon bat and felt that this was Karma biting him back in the arse.

If he could age properly, he would already be worried about pre wrinkles and probably a permanent scowl carved onto his face –not to mention the grey hairs that’ll appear before he physically reached thirty. Contrary to what Mrs. Cole believed, he was aware about his appearance (it was easier to manipulate people with first impressions after all). Just because his hair was at a constant state of disarray, and that he disliked wearing shoes doesn’t make him a slob –just eccentric.

Besides, he got into the habit of not wearing footwear due to Voldemort. He recalled the time when The Dark Lord had all but _thrown_ the shoes he wore back inside his cupboard, disgust in those crimson eyes. The vision of his soul-brother throwing a tantrum because Nagini had _ordered_ him to wear shoes to a raid (safety measures to avoid stepping on wayward bones) made him burst out laughing at random moments that month.

But back to the present, he tied the note to one of the owl’s leg before throwing the big fella out the window. He turned on his heels and sauntered to the Great Hall, not minding that he was a little early for lunch.

He raised a brow when he noted that all his Slytherins were already seated, their shoulders stiff and their expression closed off.

 “Father.” His son greeted just as he sat down. To any outsider, Marchosias was the picture of innocence and relaxation, but to him, his son was filled with tension.

“Chaos.” He smiled in greeting and piled up some food onto his plate. “Any reason as to why my Slytherins seemed… tense?” He was glad that the food would always appear as he sat down, so very different from the students –which they had to wait for the Headmaster.

“United front.”

The answer made him pause as he slowly turned towards his Snakes. He scanned them and noticed that all but three were present –being the Head meant that he knew all his Snakes by heart. He narrowed his eyes –something had happened and they were angry.

“Oh? Did one of the other animals overstep their boundaries?” He turned to his plate and asked nonchalantly as he continued eating.

“Indeed. A Lion dared to stand on a Snake’s body entirely on purpose, not minding that the Snake had almost died due to its weight.” Chaos replied, his voice cold and filled with fury.

“Really…” His lips thinned into a straight line. “And none of my Snakes had the decency to inform me.”

“It just happened.”

“Ah. Quidditch…” He looked up as the other Professors and students filled into the Great Hall.

The Headmaster stood in front of the head table, raising an arm to silence the chatters of the students.

“Before we feast in congratulations to Gryffindor for winning their match, I would like to caution that Quidditch is indeed a dangerous sport… and may lead to many in-game and bystander accidents –“

Albus was cut off as all the Slytherins hissed as one, and if they were cobras, their hoods would be flared in defiance. Marcaunon cocked his head to the side. The other Houses looked at them in shock but the Headmaster cleared his throat for attention once more.

“Ms. Bellatrix Black will be transferred to St. Mungos soon for proper treatment –“ He didn’t wait to hear what the old man had to say, knowing that a trip to St. Mungos meant that the injury was dangerous and life threatening, and stood (attracting many attention from both students and teachers alike) ignoring the eyes that followed him as he walked out the Hall.

He entered the infirmary, following the sound of sobbing and sniffling to a bed with their curtains closed. Madam Pomfrey was not anywhere to be seen as he carefully slipped inside.

Bellatrix Black was someone he disliked, but she was one of his Snakes, and he took care of those that were his. She looked pale, sweaty, and near death. On either side of her bed was her two sisters, Andromeda and Narcissa (whom is just a first year) Black.

The two crying girls turned to him with narrowed angry eyes, but relaxed when they saw it was him.

“P-professor.” Narcissa cried as she ran to him.

Marcaunon opened his arms for the crying girl to latch onto him, not minding that her stoic façade was broken. Many would think that Slytherins were cold and emotionless (which was _somewhat_ true), but his Snakes were loyal to only their chosen Lord and family. He lost count to how many First and Seconds Years had come crying to him due to the bullies and prejudiced they faced with the other Houses. It took long for him to get used to prolong human contact, but practice makes perfect –though the only ones he could stand were Slytherins.

He settled the crying girl onto his lap as he sat down on her previous seat, her face buried into his shoulder. He hummed and rubbed the girl’s back in comfort whilst looking at the middle of the three sisters.

Andromeda visibly pulled herself together when she saw him looking for an explanation.   

“Professor.” She greeted, her voice strained. “Madam Pomfrey went to inform our parents.”

“That’s good. Tell me what happened, Ms Bl–... Andromeda.” He corrected, seeing as there were two out of three Ms. Black currently conscious. He bounced his leg as he absentmindedly rubbed circles on Narcissa’s back –already used to comforting firsties to care that he was out of character.

“William Waits… He…” She sniffed softly and his eyes softened. Without thought, he transfigured the chair he was sitting on into a sofa chair just big enough for two adults to fit in. He patted the seat next to him and the girl was quick to settle next to him, leaning against him as to seek comfort.

Marcaunon wrapped an arm around Andromeda’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

“The game was already over… And we all know that Waits has temper issues. Bella… She… He was still angry at Bella for when she called him a Mudblood yesterday.”

“Waits… He plays as a beater for the Lions, does he not?”

“Yes…” The arms around his waist tightened. “We, the Slytherins, saw him _accidently_ lose his grip on a bludger… It was more than 50ft high, Professor! And he just… It was too fast and we couldn’t stop the ball in time. It landed on – on Bella’s head!”

He scowled, knowing how hard and heavy that blasted ball weighs (he still wondered why he even loved flying with a broom back then). Bellatrix was lucky to be a Witch. Any Parasites would’ve had their skulls caved in and died upon impact.

“Too fast, Professor. We could hear the… and oh Salazar… the blood… Her head was…” She chocked and cried harder. 

“Shhh… It’s alright, child.” He ran a hand through her hair in a comforting manner. “Her injuries, Andromeda?” He asked gently, rocking the two girls, the middle sister almost atop his lap whilst the youngest was glued to him.

“M-madam Pomfrey said that her… Bella’s skull was… it was shattered beyond repair! She wasn’t sure how it’ll affect Bella’s mentality, so she went to firecall my parents to inform them… and maybe place her in St. Mungos until further notice.” Her voice grew more panicked.

He hummed softly to the both of them, his gentle motions already making Narcissa’s eyes droop tiredly. Was this the cause of Bellatrix’s insanity back in his world? Before she was shoved into Azkaban? No matter how powerful she will be when she reaches adulthood, Voldemort and Marchosias would probably prefer her to be less insane. Yes, he would have to fix her… And the Blacks would owe him as well.

“Hold your younger sister for me, Andromeda.” He smiled softly at the teen as she nodded. Marcaunon shifted slightly and handed an exhausted eleven year old Narcissa over to her sister, before getting up and sitting on the edge of the bed.

He took out his wand and performed a few diagnostic spells on Bellatrix, many of them were future inventions during war time –much more accurate than the ones used these years. He narrowed his eyes in anger when he read the results –her skull was shattered, with many of the pieces piercing the brain.

Once again, Bellatrix was lucky to be a Witch. A Parasite would have already been dead with this kind of damage. There’s a chance that she could turn insane if the pieces were not pulled out, and the brain not healed properly –there was already severe intracranial hemorrhage.

He didn’t know if this dimension had competent healers that could manage such a delicate case, but he would not risk it. Even back in his own world (and future), many would already declare this as a lost cause and tell the patient’s family that she would have to be admitted into St. Mungos’ permanently mental ward.

He bit his lower lip and snapped his fingers, making one of his butterflies appear in front of him.

“Tell Marchosias to bring my red briefcase with a white cross in the middle. He knows where it is.” The butterfly burst into blue particles and disappeared just as he finished his sentence.

“P-professor?” Andromeda stuttered.

He stood up from the bed and smiled reassuringly at the teen.

“Rest. I’ll take care of Bellatrix.”

She nodded with a relieved sigh, and the two sisters’ finally relaxed their shoulders. They know not to question their Head of House, and to believe in him no matter what.

The curtains were pulled open and Marchosias stepped inside, closing it again after him. His ruby eyes scanned the surrounding people before stopping at Bellatrix. There was fury in those eyes and Marcaunon understood why –Voldemort had personally trained the adult version of Bella, making her one of his strongest fighters.

“Father.” He placed the red trunk on the nightstand beside Marcaunon. “Do you need assistance?”

The question may have sounded weird to the Blacks, since Marchosias was only a seven year old in their eyes, but Marcaunon only smiled softly and shook his head.

“Thank you Marchosias, but can you please inform Madam Pomfrey that she does not need to firecall St. Mungos?” He unlatched his trunk and pulled out a pair of skin tight gloves, along with a few potion bottles and balm. “Persuade her to the best of your… abilities.”

Marchosias gave a tight smile and walked out of the curtain area. Marcaunon knew that his son could talk a beggar out of his last meal, but Madam Pomfrey was as stubborn as a dragon, thus him giving his son permission to use Magic if necessary.

“May I ask what you’re doing to Bella, Professor?” Narcissa asked curiously. Marcaunon turned to her for a second before he continued to pull out bandages and the likes. If he remembered correctly, Narcissa was an unlicensed Mediwitch –one of the best (the Dark Side were lucky to have her).

“Since Bellatrix’s skull has shattered and punctured the frontal and parietal lobe –“

“Frontal? Parietal?”

“The front and top part of her brain.” He explained patiently. “I will need to remove those… bone pieces, put them all back together again, before fixing her brain… and mind.” He simplified with a grimace. Sounds easy but it takes a whole lot of concentration.

“Pardon me for pointing out the obvious, Professor,” Andromeda started nervously as she bit her bottom lip. “but Madam. Pomfrey said that it would take a minimum of four healers, including a mind healer, to heal my sister… And there’s a chance that she’s already suffering from mental imbalance.”

“Your concerns are understandable, but unnecessary, Andromeda. She is one of mine, and I will not permit others to announce her a lost case when she is clearly _fixable_.” He answered absentmindedly as he donned on his gloves and applied his special made numbing balm on Bellatrix’s forehead and scalp, after taking out the (bloodied) bandages of course.

He poured a few potions into Bellatrix’s mouth, and massaged her throat. Pain reliever, a (very) small portion of skele-glue, headache reliever, fever reducer, blood-replenishing, and infection control –just to name a few.  

He then placed one of his gloved hands on her forehead and the other to support him on the bed.

“Andromeda, Narcissa.” He cut in. “Do not disturb me.” The two nodded hastily when he stared at them both seriously.

He closed his eyes and layered his Magic around her cranium. The first thing he did was to remove all the unneeded blood, before slowly and carefully remove the bones penetrating her brain, and then piece the cranial bones together, similar to a jigsaw puzzle (except it’s all in the same color and have random sizes). A part of his Magic would hold them together, whilst another part would heal them permanently –the skele-glue would help as well.

He didn’t know how long it took for him to finish the first process, but he immediately went to the second. He instructed his Magic to heal her brain whilst he himself would dive into her mindscape. He would need her to be aware so that she does not fall into coma.  

Bellatrix’s mindscape was mostly blank (and looked like an earthquake had just happened), with little to no protection –a good age to start occlumency would be around sixteen for an average wizard or witch. He walked around, fixing cracks here and there whilst trying to find his student’s conscious.

“Gaunt.” Or the other way round. A weak voice, so much different from the usual defiance Bellatrix often showed him, was heard from behind him. “W-where are we? Why are you here?”

He turned to the pale teen, taking in her shaken form and suspiciously bright eyes –please don’t cry. He really didn’t want to deal with a crying Bellatrix. That would be too creepy even for him.  

“Bellatrix.” He presented her his hand, palms upwards as he smiled. “I believe it’s time we leave.”

She hesitated for a split second before latching onto his hand, almost desperately. He pulled her into a hug and patted her messy curls reassuringly.

“It’s alright.” He tilted her chin up so that she could stare into his eyes. “Will you trust me, child?”

“… Ok…” her voice was shaking. “But only this one time!”

He chuckled lowly, a little glad that the usual stubborn Bellatrix wasn’t lost.

“Close your eyes.”

She did so and with a tug, they both left his student’s fixed mindscape, with not even a crack in place (her sanity is safely secured!). His Magic had fully fixed her brain, skull, and skin, just in time for Bellatrix’s eyes to flutter open weakly.

There were gasps of disbelief coming from around him, but he paid them no mind as he wiped his damp forehead. Time for the after-procedure care.

_OOOO_

“I demand the usage of Veritaserum in this investigation, Albus.” He crossed his legs as he leaned back nonchalantly, though his eyes were narrowed behind his rose-tinted glasses.

“May I ask why, Marcaunon? William Waits has already expressed his sincerely apologies for dropping the heavy bludger due to his weakening grip.” Dumbles asked whilst sucking on those lemon drops of his.

They were currently seated in the Headmaster’s office, together with William Waits’s parents. Bellatrix’s parents on the other hand, are currently in the infirmary, together with their daughters –they wanted to stay with their eldest for the time being. They would arrive in this office soon to sue the Waits, and he would enjoy the show. But for now…

“There is a chance of him lying, Headmaster, and I will not risk it. One of my students was hurt badly, almost dying before I managed to heal her.” He stated steadily. “My Slytherins have also informed me that it was no accident, Albus, and Mr. Waits had the intention of hurting Ms. Black.”

“Only Slytherins saw that!” The father of William Waits shouted in defense as he stood up, his face red with anger. “Suspicious that only those cunning bastards saw it ha!?”

“Those cunning bastards, as you so eloquently put it, are my students, Mr. Waits. I will not tolerate you insulting them.” He stated coldly.

“I can call them anything I want, _Professor_.” The man whose name he had not bothered to remember spat at him, the spittle flying everywhere –Marcaunon was luckily out of range. How disgusting. “Tell me, _Professor_ ,” The red head snarled. “why only _your_ _Slytherins_ saw that? My youngest is a better person then all your students combined!”

“Enough.” The Headmaster said sharply, a disapproving frown on his wrinkly face. The old man had not liked the fact that a parent had disrespected his employee –the one he favored at that. Marcaunon hid a smirk behind his hand. Being a cute friendly Badger sure paid off.

“But Headmaster Dumbledore!” Mr. Winks pointed his finger at Marcaunon. “He - They’re dark! They –“

“Mr. Winks” The greying man shut his mouth with an audible click. “This matter will be investigated, and with Veritaserum.”

“You can’t be serious, Headmaster –” Mrs. Waits finally spoke up, but was cut off.

“Professor Gaunt is the Head of Slytherin, and Hogwarts’ Potions’ Master. He has the right to demand the usage of Veritaserum on a student if necessary.” Albus took out a huge tome and flipped it open, before placing it on his desk in front of Mr. and Mrs. Waits. “Read rule 401, Mr. Waits, Mrs. Waits.”

The two were silent as they read, the woman’s face going sheet white whilst her husband had turned a shade of purple, very similar to _Harry’s_  walrus of an uncle. 

“No! Veritaserum’s dangerous to young people!”

“Marcaunon?” Albus raised a bushy brow.

“To only children under the age of eleven, Headmaster.” He answered swiftly. “The potion will not cause harm to any that are older, unless overdosed. The only reason why they are not permitted by the Ministry for those whom have no mastery over Potions is because they tend to accidently poison the person they use it on.” 

“Lies!” Mr. Waits yelled in frustration, those beady eyes glaring at the two Hogwarts’ Staff.

“Mr. Waits!” Albus chided as he looked at the man disapprovingly.

“I already requested for William Waits to be administered Veritaserum. Will you authorize, Albus?” He cocked his head to the side with a raised brow.

Albus smiled at the familiar gesture and bobbed his head in agreement.

“We will administer Veritaserum after we are granted permission by the Ministry.”

In this world, there are laws regarding the usage of Veritaserum. It is illegal to use it on anybody without the Ministry’s permit, and the parties involved are required to sign a binding contract. They are only allowed to ask questions that are written on the contract. At least the Ministry in this world had a few good rules (though not much).

“Very well, Headmaster. I expect to hear from you soon.”

He left the office soon after, leaving it to Albus to persuade Mr. and Mrs. Waits into giving their permission. Dumbles was a Snake in a Lion’s fur, and only Voldemort, Marchosias, and Marcaunon knew that.

_OOOO_

For the whole week, William Waits had been in the infirmary at least three times a day. He would enter the white room crying –green skin to broken bones.

Marcaunon would always turn a blind eye when he accidently stumbled across his Slytherins in the process of going through their plans. He would hum to himself and walk away, pretending to be oblivious to the cries and begs he had heard from William Waits as his Snakes break bone after bone. They were never caught and Marcaunon was proud of that fact.

His son on the other hand… Even Marcaunon himself never caught him on the crime scene. The most painless _prank_ Marchosias had done to Waits was to make every bone within the Gryffindor’s body disappear (his Slytherins were frightened at the thought of that being the most _harmless_ out of everything Marchosias did). If Marcaunon was a squeamish person, he would’ve turned green and puked right there and then when he found Waits boneless on the ground, his skin and muscles sagging, making him look eerily like that Pokemon called Muk.

On another note, Lord Black was quick to make the Waits regret ever crossing their family. Mr. Waits became unemployed, and they’re close to losing the place they call home. Marcaunon couldn’t wait until the Veritaserum was administered. Lord Black would definitely sue them, make them penniless, and then make them the Blacks’ personal human slaves. Not servants, slaves.

Speaking of Lord Black, he had owled Marcaunon his gratitude. This would’ve been alright, if not for the fact that that bloody Lord had the gall to write, and he quote; ‘you should be honored that I am intending to give my youngest daughter’s hand in marriage to your son’.

Lord Black was the one who should be honored that Marcaunon had burnt that piece of parchment before Marchosias had seen it.

Yeah…

He wrote a respond telling Lord Black that the Black Family owed him one and left it to that. It gave him night terrors just thinking about his son marrying Narcissa and producing black-blondies. It was a disturbing thought that made him awaken at night in cold sweat. Not a pleasant experience at all.

* * *

 

“Father?” Marchosias voice sounded odd and Marcaunon wondered if he had done anything to anger his boy.

“Yes?”

“Why do I see that bi–Vevila’s name on the map?”

Marcaunon tilted his head to look just above his fireplace mantel. Pinned up was a bigger version of his Hogwarts’ Blueprint. The map was always at its default state –blank, but Marchosias has a habit of spying on Dumbledore daily. Since his map was an improved version of the Marauders’ Map, there were words beside the footprint; there were no secrets they didn’t know in Hogwarts (blackmail material mostly for Marchosias). Invading someone’s privacy was something both father and son disregarded.  

“Oh. She’s here for the interview.” He stretched and head towards his office. “Direct her to my office, alright Chaos?”

_OOOO_

“Good afternoon, Madam Malfoy.” He greeted the woman sitting in front of his desk with a polite smile.

“And you, Professor Gaunt.” Her eyes continued to blink at a rapid rate, whilst she pressed forward so that her crossed arms were resting atop his desk.

“Thank you for coming in today. I certainly appreciated it.”

“I should be the one thanking you for having me, Professor.”

He nodded at her and opened a folder container her resume and other information.

“If you could tell me a little bit about yourself, that would be great.” He needed to find out what’s so special about her (even though he would likely choose her since the others were idiots), and why should he even consider to hire her.

“My name’s Vevila Malfoy, and I have been a Potions’ Mistress for half a decade. I have experience in teaching and grading essays –mostly from tutoring Pureblood children before they start Hogwarts, and I’m hoping to become a member of the Hogwarts’ staff.”

“What are your greatest strengths, Madam Malfoy.” This was important for him to know – what she could help with after he had hired her. For example, Vevila could be good in marking essays, but doesn’t know the correct kind of homework to be given to his students.

“Hmm… I am great in brewing, finding good quality ingredients, efficient in paperwork, and patient with my students.”

“What are your greatest weaknesses?” This was a way to find out if she would be honest with him, and herself –humans always try to hide their weakness and that could be fatal if working with Potions. She might overestimate herself and the Potion could go boom.

“I must admit that I tend to avoid making Potions that require more than three days of completion, though I do brew them at least once a month to keep my skills from rusting.”

“Why are you interested in working here?” Marcaunon wondered why a Malfoy even wanted to work as an assistant, and to see if Vevila truly has passion for teaching.

Her smile turned weird before smoothing out into one of polite interest. Marcaunon choose to ignore the glint in her eyes at that moment, it unnerved him much to his confusion.

“I’ve always loved being around children, and having the opportunity to work in Hogwarts is many people’s dream –this castle is where our Magical experience truly began after all.”

She sounded genuine enough, even though she said that it was people’s dream, not hers.

“Why should I accept you as my assistant?” This was an opportunity to sell her skills to him. If he wasn’t already set on hiring her, this was the question that would give her bonus points that could lead to her being hired or rejected. A smart person would take full advantage of this.

“As you should know, being a fellow Potions’ Master, we have to join a guild to advance in our title.” She looked at him for confirmation and he nodded. “In my guild, I was in the top twenty when I received my Masteries. I am a responsible person, I have great work ethic, and I’m very adaptable.”

“Is there anything you would like to ask me before this interview comes to an end?”

“I do. May I ask what you expect of me?”

“You may. I don’t expect much, apart from helping me with grading and preparing for future lessons. Also, to assist me in brewing potions for Madam Pomfrey –students get hurt quite a lot in Hogwarts.”

“I see… Everything seems fine to me.”

“Is there anything else you wish to ask?”

“No, none at the moment.”

“Alright. I will owl you in a few days, Madam Malfoy.” He stood up to usher her to the door.

“I expect good news from you soon, Professor Gaunt.”

She smiled that weird smile of hers as they stopped by the door. Vevila suddenly turned to him and showed him an envelope with the Malfoy seal on it.

“I would like to invite you and your son to another one of my family dinners. Abraxas wanted an opportunity to apologize and make it up to you for disappearing half-way through our meal last month.”

“I’ll owl my reply to you along with the interview results, Vevila.” He gave her a soft smile, not noticing how her hand had lingered longer than necessary when she gave him the envelope.

* * *

 

_Location: Hogwarts_

“Didja hear?” Someone whispered near him as he walked through the hallways.

“What?” Another whispered back.

“Marrone went missing a few days ago after she was released by Madam Pomfrey.”

“Who’s that?”

“You know… The hot blonde in Gryffindor? A seventh year.”

“Eh… Her given name?”

“Emma. Emma Marrone.”

“Oh her. She has a nice body, that one. How did she disappear?”

“No one knows. Though there’s a rumor that they heard her scream that night before her disappearance.”

“That’s creepy… Do you think the wards around Hogwarts are weakening?”

“I don’t know, mate.”

Marcaunon continued his way to his classroom, ignoring the gossiping teenagers around him. Emma Marrone sounded familiar… He shrugged it off in favor of reading his lesson notes.

_OOOO_

In the many hidden dungeons on the other side of the castle’s wing, a boy with ruby eyes cackled as he continued to carve demeaning words onto the scarred skin in front of him, ignoring the whimpers and agonized screaming his victim let out.

* * *

Rainbows and Persistence,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Frustration, and a new _Project_ **

* * *

 

_February 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Hidden Dungeon in the… Dungeons_

_[Warning: Torture]_

Marchosias paced back and forth, his lower lip swollen due to the constant nipping of his teeth –he was beyond frustrated at the thought of Vevila invading their safe haven in Hogwarts. It was enough to make his blood _boil_ and if doesn’t cool down, all the red liquid in his veins would turn to gas, not to mention the urge to kill practically hitting its limits (she came second only after the Brat-Who-Lived-To-Annoy). All of it was _thanks_ to Albus –he allowed that bloody bint to remain in their living quarters after she was accepted as Marcaunon’s assistant.  

A pitiful moan made him pause in his pacing, and he shook all the thoughts about Vevila out of his mind –that bint would be getting her deserves soon enough.

But for now…

“My dear, do you know the reason why you’re here?” He smiled softly at the teenager dangling from the ceiling by chains around her wrists, her toes just grazing the floor – to lessen the strain on her arms. Merciful of him hm?   

The blonde, quite a looker if you ignored all the crude carvings that littered her nude body, could only whimper in fear as she stared into his ruby eyes full of mirth –he had skimmed through her mind and found humor in what she was currently thinking.

“Shall I prove to you that this is in fact, reality?”

“No p-p-please… I never… Why are you…” She sobbed as tears rolled down her cheeks. “What w-would Professor G-Gaunt say?”

All humor was gone in an instance.  

“Enlighten me, Emma.” He titled his head to the side, so alike his mother. “What do _you_ think Professor Gaunt would say if he saw what I do in my spare time?”

“He w-would be d-disap…pointe–“

She screamed as Marchosias Magicked all her nails from her toes to land in front of his feet, forcing her to pull her feet higher from the ground, and putting more strain on her shoulders, arms, and wrists. Like he would be merciful to people who touched what’s his.

“Sorry could you repeat that?” He schooled his face into one of confusion, showing nothing but innocent child-like curiosity. “I didn’t quite catch what you were saying over all the screaming.”

“I… I… haa… haaa… I’m s-sorry. P-p-…please let m-me… unhg… g-g-go.”

“Well… since you’re sincere in your apologies…” He shrugged and used her wand to drag a long table in front of them both, but out of her reach just in case she tries to kick it away. There were many tools on it, and her eyes widened with horror. “I’ll forgive you… But only if you give me the correct answer to my very first question.”

“W-what?”

“My… how quick of you to forget. Shall I help you remember?” His left hand hovered just slightly above the handle of a rather heavy-looking hammer.

“No! I-I remem…ber!”

“Really? Let’s hear it.” There was only silence apart from her heavy breathing. “I am not a patient person, Marrone.”

“I don’t know Ok!? I don’t know! What e-else do you… w-want from… me!?” She panted, half in pain and half out of breathe after her… rather _enthusiastic_ respond.

“You don’t have to be rude about it.” He gave her a mock hurt look. “I think five would be a good number for your insolence.”

Marchosias flicked Emma’s wand, transfiguring it into a long barbed whip –oh and were they insanely sharp alright. He circled her slowly, loving the feeling of being in control, and stopped just behind her. He could see how she was straining to look over her shoulder, alarm in those chocolate orbs of hers. Humans are paranoid creatures; they would often than not try to keep an eye on their potential killer or tormentor no matter how terrified they are. Leaving their backs exposed and unguarded would make them feel all the more threatened, thus leading them to panic more than usual –this normally made his blood rush south (a quirk that he isn’t too proud of).

“N-no! Please! No no… no!” She begged, not knowing that her pleas were music to his ears. If his body was that of an adult’s (or teenager), he would be aching with hardness from such delightful sounds –though he had made it a rule to never touch his toys, it would dirty him.    

He raised his arm and brought it down, almost expertly like he had done it all his life, on her naked back. There was a sharp snap before the sound of flesh being slapped was echoed alongside a shriek of pain.

“One.” He gave a toothy grin that went unseen by the teenager as he counted. “I will make you wish you were never born, Emma Marrone.”

“Two.” He swung the whip once again, making sure to enhance his arm muscles with Magic this time –his first strike was simply pathetic (in his eyes). Marrone’s skin tore under the sharp barbs, and unlike previously, she now let out a shriek that was almost inhumane, piercing through the empty dungeons and creating a tunnel of echoes. “Never touch what is mine.”

“Three.” He cackled as some of her blood splattered onto his person. “Know your place, girl –do you seriously think that _He_ would ever look at you in that way.”

“Four.” His eyes glazed with pleasure as she let out another throaty scream that could awaken the dead –it was that loud. “Don’t worry Emma dear, I’ll fix you right up afterwards.” The words made her cry louder much to his sadistic glee.

Marchosias circled back to her front and stared hard at her nude form, the two lumps of fat on her chest was something most women would kill for –though he easily ignored them, he wasn’t into rape back then and he won’t start in this life as well. He frowned as he wondered why his mother would even consider going on a date with her –he ignored the fact that Sprout was the one who pushed his mother into agreeing, or the fact that his mother didn’t know that it was a date not a shopping trip with a plus one.

He sighed, resigning himself to a fate of forever protecting his mother’s innocence (even though he was once pregnant) due to Marcaunon’s dense nature (it was both a blessing and a curse) and brought down the whip over her chest area, tearing one of her nipples in the process. The screech she let out made him wince and take a few steps back. What an amazing set of lungs –and he knows when to give compliments when it’s due.

“Five. Have you learnt your lesson yet?”

He waited for _any_ sign of acknowledgement, but none was said or shown. He made an irritated sound from the back of his throat after five minutes of her unresponsive self. Being ignored was something he despised with venom –Marcaunon had spoilt him rotten (not that he’ll admit it to anyone) and being an ex-Dark Lord made him too important to be disregarded (he was the center of attention at all times).  

“Another five for deliberately turning a blind eye to my presence.”

That only made her wail harder in denial as she tugged on the chains, wanting nothing but to escape from him. Wishful thinking, but he will grant her that soon enough in the future. He needed more entertainment (and oh she is simply a marvelous entertainment value) before he was done with his newest toy (Emma dear) –and what better way than to sooth his sadistic nature than to watch her crawl to the exit, only for him to drag her back the very last minute? The hope crumbling in her eyes would be extremely pleasing to witness.

This time, he changed the barbed whip into a leather one that Muggles were so very fond of –he could never understand the reason as to why Muggles enjoy being flogged by these things in bed. A crack was heard as he brought the whip down sharply, leather hitting flesh. She screamed as her skin tore in a straight line from her left shoulder to her right hip.

“One. I would advise you to always _acknowledge_ me in the future.” He gave her a mocking smile. The teen’s eyes suddenly rolled to the back of her head and she promptly went boneless –he could hear her shoulders popping out of place due to the sudden weight load. Marchosias clicked his tongue in annoyance before casting a Rennervate spell –she moaned in pain as she was forcefully awoken, crying as she noticed how her shoulders were dislocated.

“Don’t fall _asleep_ on me now, Emma dear.” He chided the teen playfully with a wagging finger before bringing down his whip once more. This time her skin tore from her right shoulder to her left hip. He nodded to himself in approval at the perfect X he made. “Two.”

“Y-y-you…” She bit her lower lip as a wave of pain washed over her. “Devil!”

“Try harder, deary –I’ve already heard that one before.” He snorted, eyes alight with mirth. He remembered being referred to that by Mrs. Cole when he was Tom Riddle–only five when he was brought to his _first_ exorcism (eidetic memory can be a curse at times). “Three”

He flourished the whip playfully, smirking cruelly as her body radiated trepidation. He lashed out forcefully on her left thigh, wrinkling his nose when she urinated herself. “Four… And now I have to clean you in case your wounds get infected. What a pain you’re being, Emma dear.”

He took out a wand that he had borrowed without permission from one of the Ravenclaws in the library just a few hours ago, and gave a few flicks and whispered words. She was unsoiled and the wounds on her legs cleaned before any infection could take place.

“Perhaps I should punish you for soiling yourself like a child…” He trailed off with a smirk, taking great delight in her look of despair. He snapped the whip to her right cheek, not enough to make her bleed, but enough to give her rope burn. “Five.”

“I’m sorry.” She crocked. “Please… ahhh!... I didn’t k-know… Fo-forgive… me.”

“Don’t worry, Emma dear.” He crooned lovingly. “Why don’t you start by counting backwards… perhaps from a thousand?”

He saw a flicker of confusion on her face that was full of agony, and decided to kindly give her a starting push. Marchosias took a crimpling plier from the table and used his magic to lift her right leg towards him. He gave her an encouraging smile when she started to bawl and struggle (like a child going for an injection), and he hummed peacefully as he slowly crushed her little toe deliberately slow. “Start counting, Emma dear.” Was said over her pained filled shrieks.

When she continued to only scream herself hoarse, he continued to the next toe.

“AHHH! A..-alright… wai-… Ok! P-p-please… argh… st..stop! N..nine… h-hun..dred… and… Ahng… nine… ty… ni-… AHH… ne…”

Marchosias nodded and smile at her in a proud manner. The only reason why he asked (read: demanded) her to count backwards was because it would keep her brain active and mind thinking, thus preventing her from going insane –slowing the process actually. Every human has their breaking point.

“Nin..e… hundred… hu..rts… ninety-eig…ht…”

And after a week of counting only backwards, it won’t be enough –so he would have her do additions and subtractions later on. After a month or so (depends on the person’s will and mental prowess), Emma would have to start multiplication and division, before her sanity takes a tumble down at a rapid rate –and her death would be ensured then. He hummed at his genius (this method was created in his youth when he grew bored of his toys becoming a drooling mess of meat before their due time) and gave himself a mental pat on the back.

“I’ll release you afterwards, Emma… But not yet. Just keep counting, my dear, and you’ll soon be given a chance.” He smiled cutely at the blonde, not noticing or minding how he was partially covered in blood –making him look far too much like a fallen angel in Emma’s eyes. “After all, you have to first feel my _displeasure_.”

Marchosias would forever deny the childish (and somewhat demented) giggle that slipped out from his lips involuntarily after he finished his sentence –Tom Marvolo Riddle does not _giggle_ , chuckle yes, giggle no.

_[Warning: Torture end]_

* * *

 

_February 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marchosias’s bedchamber _

Marchosias stared blankly at the parchment he had repaired from ash using his Magic –he had grown suspicious when he saw Marcaunon incinerate the parchment in a hurry the previous day. He could only focus on one sentence from the whole damn letter as it continued to repeat in his head word by word mercilessly; _‘Honored that I am intending to give my youngest daughter’s hand in marriage to your son… Give my youngest daughter’s hand in marriage to your son… Hand in marriage to your son… Marriage to your son… Marriage…’_

He ripped the letter apart, ruby eyes turning crimson in rage. How dare Cygnus Black even think about pushing Narcissa into marrying him!? Just thinking about it gave him shivers of disgust –just the thought of a _blond_ mini Tom Riddle running around is enough to give him nightmares.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, knowing that his mother would never arrange or sign a marriage for him without his prior knowledge and agreement –Marcaunon was not like most Pureblood parents. Without his permission, his Magic had all but burned the parchment pieces into its original state of ashes.

Alright, maybe he wasn’t as calm as he would like to be, but it was clearly justified. He started counting backwards from ten… make that twenty. Just as he finished, the door to his bedchambers (Marcaunon and Marchosias shared one) opened, revealing the current bane of his existence –Vevila Malfoy. His tranquil state was tipped off balanced and he could almost see his temper meter going up at a rapid rate. Get rid of one, and another one pops up from nowhere. Sometimes he resented Marcaunon’s good looks.

“Oh, Marchosias.” She looked surprised to see him, and a little disappointment though she hid it well –but not well enough for his perceive eyes. Marchosias had to forcefully restrain his snarl at being address so casually. “Do you know where your father is?”

“Not here obviously.” He continued to smile cutely at her, his words not matching his expression.

“Alright then. Won’t you join me to the Great Hall? It’s almost dinner time.”

“Sure.” He grinned brightly at her with childlike innocence. The bint just gave him the perfect opportunity to coat her fingers with poison –and she doesn’t even know it. She has a (rather stupid in his opinion) habit of playing with the rim of her goblet before drinking, thus making her an easier target for assassins. No wonder she was killed early before the first war.

He hoped off his bed and shoved his hands into his pocket as he walked beside her. They made small talk and when they were half way out the dungeons, he offered his hand to the bint –forcing his expression to one of innocent eagerness, as if he wanted her to hold his hand whilst they walk. Urgh… The things he does for Marcaunon. 

She cooed at him with that horrible grating voice of hers before they continued their walk, hand in hand. Too easy, Vebitchla. Too damn easy. He hid a demented smile by covering it with his other hand, skipping as if he was on sugar-high.  

After they were seated, he discreetly watched as she stretched out her hand for a goblet of pumpkin juice. Just before she reached her _prize_ , his mother (what bad timing you have mother!) appeared and sat beside him, making the bint turn to them with a seductive smile on her pouty red lips (too much lipstick, woman), hand clasped tightly together on her lap whilst she pushed forward to make those chest fats women called breast look bigger.

Marcaunon only smiled back at her, the flirting flying right above his head without any sign of recognition. Marchosias shook his head at his mother. How someone in his mid-twenties be so pure was beyond him.

“Professor…” The bint purred. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“You have? My apologies, I was with Pomona.”

He tuned them out, disgusted by the obvious one-sided flirting. He couldn’t wait until her untimely demise. With a minuscular scowl on his face, he stabbed his salad harder than intended. The other Professors seemed to disapprove the new assistant’s boldness (she’s a married woman for Salazar’s sake) –and there was a hint of pity in their eyes when looking at her, knowing that her advances were all for naught.

Marchosias’s eyes sharpened when he saw her making a grab for a goblet, anticipation almost making him bounce on his seat impatiently. Stupid childish tendencies were hard to ignore when your physical body is that of a seven years’ old.

As expected, she played a little with the rim as she continued to talk with the _adults_. The goblet was raised to her lips and his grip on his salad fork increased in pressure. _Hurry hurry hurry_! She finished her drink after a few gulps and he hid a grin around his tiny fork. It should make her heart fail after a few minutes of consumption.

He waited with bated breath… and was thoroughly disappointed when nothing happened after ten minutes had passed by. He frowned and tried to figure out what went wrong, before noticing that he had actually placed the poison on her wrong hand. Bloody hell. He couldn’t believe it –he was actually getting _rusty_ (of all things) in his skill of killings!

He groaned, not minding that Marcaunon was looking at him with an elegant raised brow in question –he had suffered through hand-holding with that wench for absolutely no reason at all!

* * *

 

_March 1967  
Location: Diagon Alley_

He tilted his head upwards, gazing blankly at the slanted white building –home to all money loving wrinkled midgets. Marchosias was tired of not knowing who his father was, and the easiest way would be to do a ritual via blood magic. It was too bad that the law stated that only Goblins were allowed, and any Wizards caught would be sent to Azkaban for a minimum of one year. He knew that there was only a 0.01% of him being caught in the act, but going to Goblins was a lot easier.

… Alright he’ll admit that he was too lazy to draw the ritual circle, but who cares. A mistake could cause an explosion of a magnitude scale and he did not want to leave Hogwarts because of his sperm donor. It just wasn’t worth it.

He spared his pocket watch a glance and decided that he had better get a move on –his mother would be suspicious if he wasn’t back by dinner. He nodded to the two Goblin guards, which shocked them for a second before they returned the gesture in kind. Being respectful to these gold diggers was something he learnt back in his mid-twenties. They are warriors that demanded absolute respect, and because Wizards and Witches thought them lesser due to them being non-human, they tend to deceive humans of their gold.

They were _uneasy allies_ (business partners) –same goes to Vampires, Giants and Werewolves.

He stood on his tippie-toes, hating the fact that he was not as tall as he used to be, in front of a counter. Whilst he despised not being paid any attention to, he knew that Goblins loathe being interrupted when they’re doing paperwork –so he waited.

The Goblin finally noticed him, and the creature raised a brow when Marchosias actually waited for him to finish up, unlike many others –he could hear other arrogant Wizards demanding attention from Goblins at the other counters.

“May your gold flow and your enemies bleed rivers, Elder Goblin.” He could never force himself to say _Master_ Goblin. “I made an appointment with Bloodmace to see who my birth parents are and my inheritance via Blood tests.”

“May your gold flow and enemies bleed rivers, young one. May I have your name?” This is the reason why he preferred being respectful to Goblins –they don’t sneer… much, and asked questions politely (as much as a Goblin can).

“Marchosias Gaunt.”

The Goblin barked out in Gobbledygook to one of his colleagues.

“Very well then, Mr. Gaunt. Morningstar will lead you to Bloodmace’s office.”

Marchosias thanked the Goblin before following the younger looking one. There was no need for small talk, but the Goblin seemed curious as to why such a young Wizarding child would be alone at Gringotts.

After arriving, he knocked on the door (basic courtesy) and entered once a rough voiced called out.

“Mr. Gaunt.” Bloodmace greeted with a sneer as he perched his glasses onto his pointy nose.

“Bloodmace.” He smiled politely and took a seat.

The Goblin placed a bowl with runes carved on the bottom, and a silver dagger on the side. Bloodmace explained everything to him with a snarl here and there for effect, and a wicked grin with far too many teeth for intimidation, but Marchosias took it in without mind –he already knew the protocol and was too used to Goblins to feel offended. Though he would’ve if he was still young–not to mention his habit of Crucio (or AK) first, ask questions later.  

After Bloodmace had _finally_ stopped explaining (thought he left many out), he took a needle from his inner pocket, completely ignoring the dagger beside the bowl. The Goblin raised a bushy brow, but kept quiet. Marchosias pricked his forefinger and made sure that only two drops of blood landed into the bowl, no more no less. There were rituals that could be done with three drops and he would not risk it. He also ignored the silver dagger because even if he cleaned it, there could still be leftover blood residue.

The runes glowed red as his blood started to become gas-like, and Bloodmace placed a blank parchment on the top of the bowl. After a few minutes, the runes turned back to normal and the Goblin took the parchment, scanned it, and handed it over to him.

He couldn’t hide his eagerness as he read through the results.

**_Name: Marchosias Mort Gaunt_ **

His eyes twitched at his middle name, almost chocking on his own spit. How ironic. Voldemort to Marchosias Mort –he ignored the rational part of his mind that pointed out that he was named after his godfather, Mort. He idly questioned Marcaunon’s sanity for naming his son _death_ in another language, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts. He didn’t come to Gringotts for his middle name.

**_Blood-status: Pureblood_ **

**_Age: 6 / 77_ **

This would be awkward to explain if anyone took a peek at his results. Physical age _7_ (he was seven this year!), whilst mentally 77. He would have to incinerate this parchment as soon as he finished reading it.

**_Parents: Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt (Maternal Father – UNKNOWN), BLOCKED (Paternal Father – ALIVE)_ **

Marchosias’s left eye twitched violently for a few seconds before he forced himself to remain calm. He should analyze this properly before making any assumptions. Let’s see… The test said that Marcaunon is his bearer (which he knows), but his status of being alive is unknown (weird), and his sperm donor… is alive but unknown.

He growled when realization smacked him in the face. He had read about a (illegal) ritual that could block a person’s biological parents, and the only way to unblock it is to make the person responsible to do the counter ritual. Damn his mother for being so throughout!

Counting backwards from twenty, he missed how the Goblin had looked at him with amusement –he had lost control of his facial muscles for a few respectable seconds, but it was _clearly_ justified.

**_Godparent(s): Mort (Godfather – UNKNOWN)_ **

This is getting ridiculous. Seriously. 

 ** _Inheritance Results:_**  
**_Direct Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Gaunt by Blood_**  
 ** _Direct Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of BLOCKED by Blood_**  
 ** _Secondary Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin by Blood, Soul, and Magic_**

Marchosias took a deep breath in… and promptly let loose a string of curses in all the languages he knew – and yes, he knew a lot.

_OOOO_

He stabbed his salad with a salad fork petulantly. Marchosias wasn’t a very happy seven year old right now thanks to his discovery –the visit to Gringotts was a complete waste of time.

And like any other seven year old that was unhappy with their parents, he gave his mother the silent treatment and the evil eye. He viciously attacked his plate of steak with a knife and his handy dandy salad fork.

He decided that nothing will improve even if he continued to act like a petulant kid, and forced himself to calm down. He analyzed and dissected all information he had gained from his visit as he tore his steak apart without a change of emotion on his face. The inheritance results showed that his father is a Lord –and he was the direct heir. Now he would just have to research all the current Lords (and oh Salazar there were a lot if he included the other countries) and see which one of them could be his father. Maybe a few characteristics were passed onto him on his father’s side of the gene pool; since his mother looked far too feminine… he should have inherited his father’s masculinity.  

Not that he wasn’t an exact replica of his mother –just that he looked more… manly…

Moving on.

He (luckily) isn’t a blonde, so Abraxas is out from his list of potential fathers. He doesn’t have the Blacks’ signature curly/wavy hair, or any of their more prominent features (Black genes were usually dominant). He mentally canceled out Cygnus from the list as well, thankfully.

Marchosias paused in his stabbing when he thought of Crabbe and Goyle… Never mind, he would’ve turned out a drooling fool if one of them donated their sperms to his mother. He shuddered at the thought and quickly ate his potatoes.

A trip to the library for some research it is.

* * *

 

_March 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Great Hall_

“Marchosias dear.” The overly sweet voice of one Vevila Malfoy made Marchosias cringe inwards. What was she doing here?

“Madam Malfoy.” He turned and smiled at her. “Is there something you needed?”

She stared at him unnervingly and Marchosias resisted the urge to hex her into oblivion. The words whispered under her breath almost made him sneer. Almost. “Certainly inherited his father’s beauty…”

He cleared his throat and politely repeated his question, which she finally answered to.

“Your father was called to the Headmaster’s office. I am unsure as to the reason, but it seemed urgent.” He has a suspicion that he will not be liking whatever he’s about to hear soon. “By the Professor’s request, I’m here to escort you to your Muggle School.” Great…

“That’s kind of you, Madam Malfoy, but I’m sure you must be busy with your students’ essays.”

“I can’t possibly allow a six year old to go into Muggle London all alone!” She looked scandalized.

“I ensure you I rather go alone then with you.” He whispered under his breath. She took his hand and proceeded to drag him along, much to his irritation.

Just before they managed to pass through the Hogwarts’ gates, the bint bodily turned him to face her –looking quite disapproving at him.

“Where are your shoes, dearie?”

He looked down at his bare feet, not seeing any problem –shoes were constricting things and his toes preferred their freedom.

“No idea.” He had all but kicked his shoes away after the dinner at the Malfoy’s –so it was probably in the dungeons near Slytherin territory.

_OOOO_

After a long droning lecture from the bint about how shoes were made to protect people’s feet, she finally apparated him to his Muggle school. Thank Salazar for small mercies.

The class was as noisy as ever, and thanks to his _lovely_ (vengeful) mother, he was dragged back into his age group. He now has to persevere with drooling, loud, non-disciplined, dunderheaded seven year olds that were running around the classroom, throwing spitballs at one another (disgusting flobberworms) for entertainment.

He of course threw a massive tantrum worthy of an ex-Dark Lord, but because of the promise he had made to himself to never hurt Marcaunon again… He couldn’t do anything else but try to make his mother change his mind –which failed spectacularly since he’s still here. Lord Voldemort keeps his words, and Marchosias Gaunt will as well.

At long last, Ms. Austin arrived with a cheerful smile on her face. His _classmates_ finally settling down and they did their customary greeting.

“Good morning class!” She chirped happily, one of her hands already reaching for her pointer stick on her desk.

“Good morning Ms. Austin!” They greeted back loudly. One of the reasons as to why Marchosias hated attending school here was because he would have to place a child’s mask constantly to avoid suspicion –albeit a mature one. The other reason was because there were Muggles everywhere. Everywhere!

“Now boys and girls… Today we’re going to have some new friends!” His teacher announced happily. Right on cue, the door opened and in came three young children. Marchosias cocked his head to the side, intrigued at what he was seeing.

The tallest of the three was a thin boy, with pale skin, and a hooked nose. His shoulder-length black hair framed his face in curtains, though they didn’t hide his dark penetrating black pools and frowning brow. The boy’s lips were curled in an almost grimace as he stared at his soon to be classmates’ eager faces. Marchosias could spot a few fresh bruises on his legs (shorts were made as uniform) and some on his face, partly hidden behind his hair, and he had a suspicion as to where they came from. He also knows that the teachers would only assume that he was an energetic child whom constantly tripped or got into fights often, not child abuse. Never child abuse. Marchosias’s lips twitched downwards for a split second in displeasure –Muggles were oblivious creatures that needed exterminating.

The girl beside him was the shortest out of the three newcomers, with light skin, and a cute button nose. Her dark red hair came down in elegant curls to her waist, and she made a perfect picture of what a Muggle fairytale princess would look like. Her green eyes shined brightly, but it didn’t come close to the beautiful shade he had come to known with Potter (or the Killing Curse). She smiled sweetly at the children, making many of the boys swoon –weren’t they too young to be attracted to the opposite sex? Marchosias knew that she would grow into a beautiful woman, and she would still appear attractive even when her eyes dimmed due to death.  

The last was a tall, thin girl, with nearly twice the usual amount of neck a normal person should have. Marchosias could only describe her as a two-legged horse in human skin, wearing a ponytail dark blonde wig that reaches just pass her middle back. Her eyes were dark, and he could make out a small pursing of her thin lips, making her look more like a horse than ever with her bigger than average front teeth. The only redeeming quality on her face was her nose, which was straight and triangular –like she had done plastic surgery but that was impossible due to her young age.

They three wore the school’s uniform and were welcomed with loads of clapping on his classmates’ part.  

“Now now class, settle down.” The teacher called out. She turned to the closest –the shortest, and smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t you three introduce yourselves to your new friends?”

“Hi! My name’s Lily Evans.” The red hair girl introduced herself with a sweet shy smile that made the teacher coo. “My favorite color’s pink and I like to read. I’m sure we’ll all be good friends!” The class cheered and clapped loudly, much to the teacher’s amusement.

“Severus Snape.” His future Potions Master stated moodily, and Marchosias could see that many were intimidated by his mere presence. The clapping wasn’t as boisterous, but majority of the girls were whispering to one another, and he could lightly make out the word _fanclub_. Marchosias didn’t know whether to grimace or laugh at the sheer idiocy –again, weren’t they a little too young to think about relationships?

“Hello, I’m Petunia Evans. I hate freakish things and people.” The horse-like girl glared at her younger sister when she spoke the last part, making Marchosias tilt his head to the other side. She was _that_ type hm… Jealousy is unbecoming of a lady (not that she could be one), dear Petunia. The class clapped politely, but most of them looked confused at her choice of words.

“They’ll be with us until their school has finished rebuilding –“

“Why?” One of his classmates shouted curiously.

“Billy, you should raise your hands next time.” She chided lightly.

“Sorry Ms. Austin.”

She smiled at the boy and gave him a pet on the head, making him grin brightly in response. “Their school was… burnt down. So the children are transferred to schools near them whilst they wait.”

After a few more minutes of his classmates questioning the new kids, Ms. Austin ushered the three to their seats. Severus was placed next to him, and Lily just in front –he didn’t bother checking where the horse sat. It seems that Muggle School had just became interesting this year. Perhaps he could make a pet project to kill time…? Operation Ensure-Snape’s-Undying-Loyalty commence!

* * *

Rainbows and Dungeons,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: You-Know-Who, and Disaster field trip**

* * *

 

_April 1967  
Location: Slytherin Manor_

Sitting near the fireplace with a glass of firewhisky in hand, Voldemort stared into the flickering flames deep in thought, the fire creating shadows around the dimly lit room. His face held no semblance of emotion, and with his too still form, one would think him a doll – a very handsome and realistic one.

With elegance that many would envy, he lifted the glass to his lips –lips that many could only dream of kissing– and took a sip, relishing the burn his alcoholic beverage provided.

Abraxas seemed to have everything going well for him in his political career, and Voldemort had ordered his blonde ex-schoolmate to court the members of the Wizengamot into siding with him, and also introducing him into the world of politics. There were bills Voldemort wanted them to approve of –like Wizarding orphanages for starters.

He would be playing in both fields –politician and Dark Lord.

If the blonde were to fail his given task, Voldemort would make an example out of him, though Abraxas would only be losing a limb or two seeing that his heir was still too young to be of any real use.

Whilst still on the thought of the Malfoy family, Voldemort lips twisted in displeasure. Vevila, the Malfoy matriarch, was becoming more than a little infuriating. Every time he called his inner circle for a meeting, she would openly  _ogle_  him. It was disturbing and even after a round of Crucio, her disrespect still showed in the form of a lecherous stare.

He was tempted to mind rape her, but she still has her uses –being his Potions' Master and infiltration specialist. Her mediocre potions' skill would only worsen and he had no other followers that could best her in potions' making just yet. It was not as if his skills were inferior to hers, quite the contrary actually, but he was just too busy to brew potions all day in preparation for any injuries in the future. He made a mental note to get a list of competent Potions' Masters from Vevila the next day.

With a slight tilt of his head, a few strands of his dark locks came loose and brushed against his cheek. His long fingers tugged the wayward strands and slipped them behind his left ear smoothly as his lips formed a slight smirk at the thought of his non-human allies.

The Dementors were excited and Voldemort was slightly put off at the cause of it. He had of course made a visit to Azkaban a few weeks ago to speak with the Lord of Dementors, but the answer he received was a highly disturbing one – _Master is providing us with more brothers and sisters_. But since those cloak wearing positive emotion stealers were still upholding their part of the bargain (their aid in exchange for souls of those who defy him), he just shrugged it off (though still cautious) and decided that it was just a Dementor thing.

The Werewolves on the other hand were a headache to deal with. The few times he visited, he had to glare those overgrown mutts into submission when they persisted in trying to convince him that being a werewolf would only benefit him –they conveniently forgotten that he would lose his mind during the full moon, not to mention the pains of transformation. Fenrir would only bark out a hideous laugh as he watched on at the sidelines –the Alpha was carefree and would do absolutely nothing unless one of his packmates were bold enough to attack Voldemort, and vice versa of course.

They were easy to convince, seeing as they only wanted a land that they can call their own to roam free without restrictions (a reserve for when they transform), and that their kind could walk in the streets without getting killed (basically Werewolf legalization). They also wanted their young ones (that were Magical) to be able to attend Hogwarts, which he didn't mind except on one condition, they had to be locked up in the dungeons when it's the full moon –they agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Just thinking about those idiots was enough to form a headache of epic proportions. He drained his drink to clear his thoughts and just as his lips left the rim, it was refilled –disciplining his houseelves had been fun, but now they don't make even the slightest of mistakes, much to his great disappointment.

He batted away the thoughts concerning Giants, because let us all admit it, they were dunderheads and would follow Voldemort without a thought just because he had offered them their very own (giant) mountain if they were to give him assistance. After he became the ruler of the Wizarding world, it would be easy to keep his part of the bargain. Everyone knows that Giants made excellent meat shields with their thickened hides, and the Light Side would never  _lower_  themselves into casting the Killing Curse –he chuckled lowly at the thought (a very seductive sound that could send pleasurable shivers down one's spine).

He hummed as his mind drifted off to the more bloodthirsty of his allies, the Vampires. It had taken him years to court those blood suckers to his side –and he had to remain in Albania because of that. But at least he managed, and he did learn a lot of both Dark and Light Magic there. With debates and arguments that would often than not lead to bloodshed, the Vampires finally agreed to feed from blood banks –Wizard edition of course. Building a blood bank and making a rule that every Wizard and Witches were required to donate their blood weekly would definitely be enough for them (of course there would be a contract stating that the Vampires will only be using their blood for feeding, and not others such as rituals).

Vampires don't really need blood daily to sustain themselves unlike what those Mudbloods love to think (they should remove all their Muggle beliefs already once they stepped into  _HIS_  world), they just prefer it because it makes them feel alive. Those cold blooded creatures crave for warmth, similar to serpents –they're just unlucky that sunlight burns them rather than take away their coldness.

His last, but never final, non-human allies are the Goblins. Bargaining with them was simple enough (shockingly), since he knew from the start what they wanted the most. Freedom. Voldemort would allow them to run their banks independently from the Ministry, unlike those Light Wizards –especially those who are biased in thinking that non-human equals to evil.

Just the previous day, he had gathered all his non-human allies' leaders into one room and had a meeting with them. Everything was up for debate as he told them his plans for the Wizarding world –not all mind you. Everyone was agreeable (after a few glares and death threats if they were to raise their weapons) and they would be striking soon –he already made plans for raids in the  _very_  near future.

All the (nightly) planning for this year is about him gaining the title of Dark Lord, and since he's as ambitious as his ancestor, he has already made plans for the upcoming years –he'll be forming international human allies (which he already formed for some when he was traveling the world).

His smirk became feral as he cackled. War will soon arrive, and many would fear even mentioning the name of Lord Voldemort.

* * *

_April 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Great Hall_

Marcaunon watched his son from within the shadows, slightly disturbed at how…  _happy_  he appeared. Marchosias would usually tend to brood for reasons unknown to Marcaunon, but now, he seemed…  _light_  –there was no other wording to describe it (he was bloody bouncing in his steps for Salazar's sake!). It was downright creepy and Marcaunon wanted it to be stopped (or put a stop to it).

His scarlet eyes followed how his son's lips twitched upwards into something akin to a smug smile before it was replaced by the usual mask of boredom. How terrifying! Marcaunon shuddered. Whatever that boy's planning, it doesn't look good.

He gnawed on his lower lip as he fretted about the possibility of his son turning into a Parasite lover –which was 0.01%, but who knows!?

" _ **Marcster."**_  His beautiful constant companion hissed in question, his scaly nose brushing against Marcaunon's cheek in a tender way.  _ **"What ails you so? Will my venom aid?"**_

" _ **I'm sure Chaos would mind being bitten, my sweet."**_  Marcaunon smiled fondly at Suki and kissed the snake's triangular head.

" _ **Is little Master being difficult again?"**_

" _ **Not at all, pet."**_  He stroked his companion's dark scales as his eyes lingered on his boy.  _ **"He's only… making me paranoid."**_  Marcaunon was awfully worried at his son's change of attitude. What if he fell in love with a Mudblood attending Parasite school…? He's 77 year old and that would be called pedophilia –which Marcaunon won't accept even if his son is mini-mort!

Before he could continue with his (sorely mistaken) train of thoughts, McGonagall spotted him and decided to drag him to the head table for some breakfast –which he allowed her to since he was indeed feeling quite ravenous. Suki had returned to being his  _scarf_ , much to his amusement. His lovely pet loathes humans, with Marcaunon and Marchosias being the only exception (he was terrified of Death, like all animals were).

"What were you doing lurking in the shadows, Marcaunon?" She looked at him with disapproval as they sat at their appointed seats.

"I wasn't lurking." He retorted and gave the witch a playful glare.

"Any young lady you find fancy? Or maybe a bloke?"

"None whatsoever, Minerva." He paused in his meal to stare at her incredulously. "And why a bloke?"

"Most women prefer to have men that don't look prettier than them." He sputtered. Again with the jokes about his looks. He didn't really look that ugly… right…?

He grumbled as his colleague giggled. She continued to poke fun about his looks until Marchosias cleared his throat to point out that he needed Marcaunon's signature for a field trip. He could only stare at his boy with a ' _What the fuck?_ ' look, his eyes comically wide with disbelief.

Marchosias was always the first person to throw away any consent forms –to be free from any trips the school may have planned for their students. It was mind boggling that Marchosias, a psychopath  _and_  a sociopath, wanted to attend an excursion filled with gaggling children.

"Please tell me that that's an April fool's joke." He deadpanned.

He was given a similar deadpan in return. Marchosias didn't even deem his question worthy enough for a reply. He only paced a piece of paper in front of his mother and pointed at the blank space. Without thought and on reflex (due to years of paperwork), Marcaunon signed it, much to his horror.

Before he could erase his signature, the paper was snatched back by a smug looking little boy –oh you evil, evil reincarnated devil. Marcaunon narrowed his eyes behind his rose tinted glasses. He would get to the bottom of this  _phenomenon_ , or his name isn't Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt.

* * *

_April 1967  
Location: London, Aquarium_

Marcaunon made a very convincing imitation of a fish out of water, before he rubbed his eyes, and became a fish some more. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing. His facial muscles spasm as he stared at the boy whom was a smaller and non-greasy version of Severus Snape.

He took a deep breath in and held it for ten seconds before releasing. Marcaunon repeated that a few more times (uselessly) before his knees wobbled and he quickly leaned onto the pillar beside him for support –his legs felt like jello.

The feeling of his nails cutting into his palm brought him back from his state of shock. He was luckily out of sight of any of Marchosias's classmates. His hands shook as he covered his mouth to contain a squeal that almost slipped out of his parted lips. Mini-Snape looked so cute –with cheeks that were still clinging to some baby fat he had and child-like doe eyes. Who would've thought that Snape's eyes were huge before he got into the habit of narrowing those orbs in irritation? Well, dunderheads could do that to people.

He hummed in thought before his face split into a shit eating grin. He schooled his expression into one of boredom –similar to Marchosias– and sauntered towards the party of four his son was in. The two girls had their backs to him, so he didn't really recognize them –but luckily they felt Magical, though the blonde felt more like a squib.

Marchosias was the first one to spot him, and Marcaunon had to force down his amusement when his stoic son actually did a double-take at seeing him here in person. Snape looked at Marchosias weirdly before he tried to turn towards Marcaunon's direction.

Tried was the keyword.

Marchosias had turned on his heel and ushered his three company away quickly without making it seemed like he was running aw–ah sorry, making a tactical retreat. His son doesn't flee after all.

Unlucky for them, their legs were shorter than his and after a few more strides, he was directly in front of mini-Snape. He smiled pleasantly (creepily) at the dark haired boy, whom took a step back in alarm, and parted his lips to speak.

"Hello." He greeted, his smile growing larger when he saw Marchosias's expression out of the corner of his eyes. "What a cute little boy… Are you perhaps Chaos's boyf–"

"What a…  _lovely_  surprise, father." Marchosias brutally cut in, his smile becoming similar to Marcaunon's. "Though I would rather have you seated behind your desk of never ending paperwork than here actually."

"Ah but Marchosias, my desk is perfectly clean of any paperwork" My eyes were practically shining behind my rose tinted glasses. "and since I needed some fresh air, I decided to go out on a stroll. You can't imagine how surprised I was to seeing my adorable son in the same location!"

"Indeed… How curious that you've decided to take a stroll in an aquarium of all places."

"Perhaps I needed a change of… ah, scenery."

They both smiled at each other  _pleasantly_  for a few minutes before their impromptu staring (glaring in Marchosias's part) contest was interrupted by one Severus Snape.

"Your father, Marchosias?" The childish voice of Snape made him snap his gaze towards the child and smiled broadly. How adorable!

"I am indeed Marchosias's father, Marcaunon Gaunt. You may call me Marcaunon or Marc for short." I extended my hand towards Snape, which he took and shook politely.

"It's nice to meet you, sir. I'm Severus Snape, your son's classmate."

"My, what a polite young man." He crouched down to Snape's eye level and smiled –though for people who are close to him, they would see it as a smirk. "Chaos should learn from you."

"… Marchosias is already polite enough, sir." Snape's cheeks were tinted with red as he ducked his head down.

Marcaunon suddenly had the urge to squeeze the future Potions' Master to death for sheer cuteness –it was illegal to be that adorable. Why couldn't Chaos be this way? He inwardly pouted at the way Marchosias behaved on a daily basis –which consisted of reading, eating, reading, and did I mention reading?

As if sensing his thoughts, Marchosias cleared his throat and glowered at Marcaunon before smiling at the two girls that were standing behind them.

"Father, let me introduce you to Lily–" He turned towards the two ladies. "and Petunia Evans."

His smile froze and he felt as if time was slowing down as he stared into his childhood tormentor –that fucking child abuser. He saw them curtsied and their lips moving, but his ears refused to cooperate with his brain. The shy blonde child in front of him overlapped with the image of a sneering Petunia with a frying pan in hand, holding it up as if she were ready to strike him at any given moment.

_("You freak! If only you've had died with my whore of a sister!_

" _P-please aunt P-petunia… I'm hun-… I haven't e-eaten in three days…"_

" _Then make yourself useful and die from starvation somewhere else, boy!"_

" _Aunt–"_

" _I AM NOT YOUR AUNT! NO FREAK IS A FAMILY OF MINE!"_

" _B-b-but–"_

" _VERNON! GET THE BELT, THE FREAK IS DOING SOMETHING FREAKISH AGAIN!"_

" _N-no! I didn't! It's not me! I –")_

_OOOOO_

Marchosias blinked owlishly when his mother froze at the sight of the two-legged horse –she wasn't that ugly… was she? Well, maybe she was.

His vacant eyes were staring beyond the girl's as if seeing someone else in Petunia's place. Marchosias crossed his arms when he felt his very core freezing, his breaths coming out in puffs of air –with everyone in the area looking more or less terrified of what was happening. Some were even running around in panic.

The lights flicked a few times before they darkened and the feeling of happiness (which he didn't have much so he wasn't as affected as the rest of the Muggles and his soon to be minions were) seemed to be sucked from the air –the atmosphere was colder than in the winter time and he swore to Merlin he saw frost on the aquarium glasses.

The Muggles surrounding them suddenly collapsed, one by one, as they screamed and groaned in despair –they all appeared depressed and grief stricken.

Dementors were the first thing that came into Marchosias's mind, but those cloaked creatures don't stray far from Azkaban unless they were ordered by the Ministry (or him… or the other him actually). Something in his mind clicked into place and he turned towards his mother.

The ground Marcaunon was standing on was frosted and Marchosias actually felt something similar to fear when he saw the crimson glow in his mother's eyes. Those were the eyes of someone who was enraged and full of uncontrollable anger. Someone who would let their anger control their actions to the level of insanity. Marchosias feared it like no other because that was something he experienced on a daily basis during his previous life as Voldemort.

He remembered looking into the mirror in his previous life –looking into those very same eyes every day. He saw the Evans sisters on the floor as they hugged each other for warmth and Severus already on his knees, his hands holding his head as he mumbled out incoherent words.

He stood in front of Marcaunon and cupped those soft cheeks with his (shaky) hands. Marcaunon didn't even notice him.

"F-father." He called out uselessly. "Mother… mother, stay with me!"

Suki slithered on him in a hurry and when the snake coiled around him, he felt the poor snake's freezing body. He whispered a warming charm under his breath for his two cold blooded companions and hissed reassurance to them.

"Mother! Mum! Please… Please come back to me. Don't lose your sanity… Why are you even losing it in this type of place, mum!? What has you so distressed…?"

He gnawed his bottom lip, knowing what he'll have to do. A butterfly landed on his hair.

"Fetch Mort."

If a butterfly could salute, it would've done so. Rather, it burst into blueish particles and not before long, Mort's inky black portal appeared, followed by said person. There were no words exchanged as the man rushed towards them.

"What happened?" His godfather demanded as he touched Marcaunon's shoulder tenderly. His mother suddenly went limp and fell into Mort's awaiting arm.

"Mum suddenly froze when he saw Petunia–"

He was cut off.

"I understand. Act as if this has never happened." Mort raised a hand and without further ado, snapped his fingers. Marchosias felt a wave of unknown Magic wash thorough the whole aquarium and the surrounding became normal again, though everyone's eyes were glazed. "I've already altered their memories. I'll be taking Master back to our cottage for today."

"Is mother…?"

"He'll be fine. Keep a butterfly with you at all times, it'll take you back to the castle by your command –better than any portkey."

He could only stare as Mort walked through the inky portal with his mother carried bridal style. What happened? Why did Marcaunon react negatively when he saw Petunia? Did they have history together? Why did it feel as if his mother was a Dementor? Who the hell is Marcaunon Gaunt –why wasn't he there in his first life?

Why was his mother such a bloody enigma!?

_OOOO_

"Are you well now, Master?"

Marcaunon sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"I am. Thank you for that, Death. I would've murdered that bitch the very moment I came out from my memories."

"Give me an order and I'll make her disappear."

"I'll do it myself, Death, but not yet. I need her alive for Dudley to be born." He got up from Death's lap and smiled bitterly at the immortal being. "It seems like my emotions are harder to control in the face of my tormentors than I had originally thought."

"Marchosias will want answers." Death paused before It continued. "I apologize for not altering his memory, Master. A master Occlumens would know something is amiss even if he can't break free of my alternation."

"He will, won't he?" He murmured. "Don't worry about it, I've got it covered."

"He'll find out soon enough, Master. He's Tom Riddle after all."

"I know… But I'll prolong the inevitable as much as I can." Marcaunon turned away from the entity as he closed his eyes tightly. "I'm not ready to be hated by him just yet, Death."

* * *

Rainbows and Mermaids,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: Confrontation(?), and a well-deserved** _**Vacation** _

* * *

 

_April 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's study_

Marcaunon was unmoving as he stared into his son's ruby orbs, absorbed by his wondering thoughts and whirlwinds of emotions just shimming underneath all of his occlumency shields. The two were both seated at the opposite of one another, with Marcaunon unable to break the silence that came with Marchosias's (expected) entrance.

Death, that traitor, had fled the scene, stating with much solemnity that he didn't want to be in the middle of two people whose temper are on par with a pregnant woman's during a difficult labor. Both of the two humans had developed a tic on their temple at being compared to a hormonal soon to be mother, but kept their lips sealed –knowing but not admitting that their tempers were actually worse.

He knew that he was acting like a petulant child that was caught red handedly stealing a cookie from the forbidden jar, but he inwardly shrugged it off. Silence is great and makes the world go round –it wasn't as if he was afraid of Marchosias's reaction. Pfft, of course not. Really.

"Will you explain?" Marchosias's voice was like hot knife cutting through butter –sharp and melting. "Or will you continue with your unwanted silence?"

Seeing no way out of it, Marcaunon sighed and leaned back, whilst still maintaining eye contact. He wasn't worried about Chaos reading his thoughts, seeing that he had mastered the art of occlumency back when he was in his forties –his shields were utterly destroyed by Snape and he had to rebuild them from scratch, which took half a decade just to have basic protection.

"She looked similar to the child version of one of my childhood antagonists." He wasn't outright lying, mini-Petunia did look like Aunt Petunia, with lesser wrinkles.

"A childhood bully is enough for you to lose control over your Magic?" He raised a brow. "Or have I overestimated you?"

"A mere childhood bully would not be my undoing, Marchosias." He scowled at the insult he received.

"Was she not a  _mere_  bully to you then?"

"… She was somebody who constantly… loses her grip over her frying pan when I am near."

"She physically abused you?" Marchosias gritted out as he narrowed his already crimson eyes –a sign that he was royally pissed.

"I wouldn't call it abuse, just disciplining."

He looked at me with disbelief and Marcaunon grimaced inwardly at the wording. Harry Potter used to think that every child gets their head whacked by a frying pan when making breakfast incorrectly, and it was engraved in his mind that it was called discipline by his guardians, not abuse.

"That's called abuse, mother."

"I would only call it abuse if that resulted in a concussion."

"Muggles…" Marchosias's eyes narrowed dangerously and he held in a shudder –he looked similar to Tom Riddle when the teen ordered the Basilisk to kill Harry Potter. "You lived at an orphanage throughout your childhood, is that right?"

Marcaunon was tempted to reply with  _"What, no 'mother'?"_  but pushed that out of his mind. It wouldn't be smart to tickle a sleeping dragon –a Hogwarts' Professor should follow the school's motto after all.

"Yes." Keep the answers short and simple Gaunt.

"Was this look-alike a worker there?"

"No."

"… I understand that you would prefer to keep your childhood to yourself," His expression was understanding, but his tone stated otherwise. "however, don't I have the right to know as your child?"

And there it was –emotional manipulation via guilt. Luckily he was immune to such things thanks to Dumblefuck.

"Of course you do, love."

"Your silence and answers state otherwise…" Marchosias's expression was suddenly schooled into one of hurt. Marcaunon didn't buy it at all. "You call me  _love_ , but do you really love me?"

… He almost shuddered. The word  _love_  coming out of Marchosias's lips was disturbing at best. Even though he understood that his son does indeed care for him, having  _Tom Bloody Riddle_  ask such a question was giving him goosebumps.

Marchosias seemed to have picked up his discomfort and Marcaunon could practically see the eyeroll he was mentally receiving. Mentally, because everyone knows that it was below Marchosias to roll his eyes when having a serious discussion.

"It's just that…" Marcaunon school his features into one of woefulness and slumped his shoulders forward as if the weight of the world was on them. "I would prefer to let the past be just that, the past. There's no need to complicate it with retelling."

Truthfully, he would rather burn the orphanage to the ground, but hey, Voldemort beat him to it. Wool's Orphanage was destroyed by the younger version of his son just as Marcaunon graduated from Hogwarts and moved into Dormus Mortem.

He could still recall the sheer devastation he felt when he saw the burnt down orphanage. He had already planned how to get rid of said orphanage, but thanks to Voldy, it was all ruined. His late night planning was all for naught.

"A lie like that would not fool me." Marchosias sneered. "You are the type to take revenge on those who have wronged you, not sit back and forgive those insects."

… His son knew him well. Too well actually.

"You make it sound like I'm a killer."

"Are you not?"

… Again he could not rebuke that.

"What if I told you that I don't wish to talk about it because it's too painful of a memory?"

"Then I would call that person –which clearly isn't you– pathetic." Marchosias spat out with disdain, which Marcaunon couldn't help but agree with. It was rather pathetic in his opinion –like father (mother) like son then. "Very well, then so be it. We will be returning to this topic eventually, your secrets are yours to keep  _for now_."

He almost sighed in relief when Marchosias ended the interrogation. This was one of the many times when he wished that Marchosias Gaunt was born without Tom Riddle and Voldemort's memories. It would've been so much easier, but alas, he would've felt lonely with being the only human to remember his war against Voldemort. How contradictive of him –but weren't all humans like that?

"You shall be telling me about your Dementor-like abilities however."

… And here he thought it was over. Anyway, he could use this as a chance.

"I'm afraid that that is the result of being an inborn Necromancer." Which was somewhat true. Necromancy is one of the many subgroups of Death Magic, and because of their close ties to Death, they have abilities similar to Dementors. Though not as extreme as the creatures –or him actually, since Marcaunon's affect is stronger than those creatures.

"You're an inborn Necromancer?" His tone was indifferent, however Marcaunon could clearly see the surprise inside his son's eyes.

Here it is. He could kill two hornbills with one spear. He could make Marchosias think that Necromancy was the only secret he was keeping (apart from his childhood), whilst also informing him about his heritage –Death Magic could be passed down to his descendants.

"Yes, and once you're old enough, I alongside with Mort will be teaching you the arts."

"I'm a Necromancer as well?" Marchosias's cold mask shattered to be replaced by a look of eagerness and greed.

"You are, but not, as well."

"What do you mean?" He all but demanded in his 'Voldemort voice', though a lot higher in pitch.

"I'm planning on performing a ritual on you actually." Marcaunon admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. Chaos would find out soon anyway, better now than later –having a genius for a son was tough at times.

"And pray tell what were you planning on doing with me?" He ignored the wide eye and suspicious glare he was receiving.

"Upgrading you into a Leiche."

"… Turning someone into an animated corpse is not something one would consider an upgrade!"

"I'm not turning you into an… animated corpse!" He paused. "Well, kind of."

"What!?"

"Calm down."

"I am calm!"

"… I can see that."

"Your sarcasm is not appreciated at this moment of time, mother!"

"Let me explain." He waved for his boy to return to his seat (he had stood up right after Marcaunon's admittance about wanting to perform a ritual on him). "You are to discard all the things you have read in books regarding Liches. My version of a Lich does not consist of undead, decaying, or skeletal bodies. You could say that the person I perform my ritual on will stop aging and have their hearts removed from them.

"The still beating heart will then be placed inside a ruby that I made and hidden someplace where nobody should know –it is a Lich's one true weakness so of course it'll be hidden. The body of a Lich may be killed or destroyed, but their souls will just detached from the corpse and enter any other human's body, thus making it their own –like clothing."

"I'll be immortal…?" It was a whisper that Marcaunon shouldn't have heard, but he did nonetheless. "Are there any other Liches alive at this point of time?" He could see it in Chaos's eyes that if there were, he would hunt them down and be the only one.

"Yes and no. Normal Liches that were made by Necromancers are in existence, but the one I had explained to you are not. The ritual I invented will turn the Necromancer into a living Lich, not create one using a corpse or human."

"How can you be so sure?" Marcaunon caught on the hidden question of  _'are you one as well?_ ' and decided to take insurance of his wellbeing –just in case, one can never be too careful even with kin.

"It has already been tested yes." He ignored the real question. The many screams of despair those Parasites made was music to his ears.

Marchosias scowled (pouted) at him and just as his boy's lips parted, the door to his study creaked opened, revealing his assistant. Marchosias's lips formed a sneer for a split second before it was gone. His son's hatred for all Malfoys was something quite amusing for Marcaunon, and he idly wondered if that hate came from the betrayal of Narcissa and Draco when he was Voldemort.

"Ah! There you are, Professor." Vevila sauntered towards him with her hips swaying from side to side. Marcaunon raised a brow, wondering if her panties were causing her any problems –women are always harming themselves over beauty products (heels, G-strings, and breast implants, nuff said).

"Vevila." He greeted with a slight nod of his head. "Is anything the matter?"

"I was hoping that we could walk to dinner together?" Her eyelids were twitching irregularly whilst Marcaunon just continued to blink normally. He was not one to make fun of anybody with a medical condition (muscle fasciculation), so he ignored it of course.

"We'll be done soon." He waited for her to get the hint that her presence wasn't required any longer, but it seemed to have gone over her head as she stared at him with half-lidded eyes. Never before has he seen a Malfoy so…  _dumb_ … Excuse his lack of better wording for there was none other to be used.

Marcaunon sighed under his breath and stood up. He rounded his desk and gently picked Chaos before swinging his boy to his hip. Like on instinct (and perhaps muscle memory), Chaos wrapped his slender legs around Marcaunon and buried his face in the crook of his mother's neck.

"Are we alright now?" He whispered.

"Yes… mother. We are." Was whispered in return. Good to know that their relationship had not gone sour.

Marcaunon's arms tightened slightly before he turned towards the Malfoy matriarch with a pleasant (in her eyes anyway) smile on his face.

"Let us be off then."

Whilst they made their way to the Great Hall, all thoughts about Marcaunon's childhood was pushed back to the furthest part of Marchosias's mind as his sole focus was about his newly acquired Necromancer status. Marcaunon would have patted himself on the back for a job well done if he were to know his son's train of thoughts.

* * *

_May 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's study, secret room behind the bookshelves_

Marcaunon was, as usual, reclining on his elegant yet pointy sword throne as he signed yet another document pertaining someone's  _very_  detailed cause of death. As his crimson (yes his rage meter was off the charts) eyes darted from one parchment to another, he threw his hands up in frustration.

Each and every one of them died the very  _same_  way –eaten to death by another human, though some endured longer than others (poor them, being chewed alive was unpleasant and Marcaunon would know).

"Are you bloody serious!?" He yelled, outraged. The endless stacks of Deathfiles towering over him didn't help his mood either.

Without a thought of his poor servant that would likely have to clean up after him, he swept every of his items off his mahogany desk with vengeance. This resulted in all of his neatly stacked folders to scatter all over his tiled floors. Frustrated beyond belief, Marcaunon didn't hesitate to will them into the magical induced fireplace with a hard thrust of his hand.

Though more than half of the folders were sent flying into the fireplace, they remained unburnt, much to his displeasure. Death must've made sure that they were immune to fire by now, seeing that Marcaunon's tantrums were worthy of any three year olds when in the face of paperwork.

A dagger was suddenly materialized in his hand, and with an almighty battle cry that would make any war veteran look like little girls, he stabbed the scattered folders repeatedly with much satisfaction… only to howl in frenzy when they came out unscathed.

"How dare you  _tinker_  with these  _abominations_  and give them  _immortality_ , Death!? Paperwork are never supposed to be indestructible!" He yelled out as he continued to ruthlessly stab the parchments without the desired effect.

Seeing that his mind was in the state of hysteria, he didn't notice when the room's entrance parted or his son's frozen form at the sight of his flailing arms –daggers still present– in the air, screaming bloody murder to nothing whilst the floor was littered with folders, parchments, quills, and broken inkpots.

"… Mother." A childish high pitched voice broke him from his state of derangement, and his mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.

A few deep calming breaths were taken (he was kind of mortified for his lack of self-control) before he turned to his cute little six year old baby boy, a twitchy smile on his face. Sadly, it didn't reach his eyes that were boiling from demented determination –making them glow an eerie crimson.

His adorable boy was dressed cutely in a black cat onesie (that he was forced into by Marcaunon earlier), with little pink triangular ears atop its hood, and holding the long tail in his chubby hands close to his chest –as a child would hold their favorite blanket.

"Is there something you need, love? Mummy's a little busy right now."

His boy eyed him warily, cautious as if with a wild and untamed animal. Marcaunon was oblivious to the thoughts running within Marchosias head, which was something along the lines of listing mental illnesses –paperwork induced mental illnesses that is.

"I heard screaming… and wondered if there was anything wrong." He talked slowly whilst those ruby eyes roamed the secret room, which only the two Gaunts know, taking in all the mess and finally stopped on the unmoving form of Marcaunon.

Marchosias was scrutinizing the young man –whom looked like he just got shagged rather brutally– with his mused up hair, flushed cheek, disheveled clothing, and heavy panting.

"Fine. Everything's fine. Why don't you head down to the library until dinner? I'll even write you a permission slip into the Restricted Section."

Marcaunon gave a carefree grin and stood up from his knees smoothly without waiting for his son's answer. He sauntered to his desk and blinked owlish at seeing only wood. As if he just noticed that his parchments and writing tools are on the floor, he accio-ed them and was quick to scribble his signature and permission on it.

Not minding the wreckage he had caused (as if a tornado had swept by), he stepped rather forcefully on the folders as he practically glided towards his son. He handed the note and turned the stock-still boy before gently pushing Chaos out the entrance.

He hissed out the command for the entrance to close and reinforced it with Magic so that it would remain shut and soundproofed. After another once over, he strode towards his desk, circled it to his throne and slumped on it ungracefully with a tired sigh.

"Death."

"You called, Master?" The voice of Death spoke from behind him –and he would've jumped if he wasn't so used to it.

Marcaunon gestured towards the folders, which were still scattered throughout the floor.

"What the bloody hell happened?" He asked tiredly as his eyes narrowed on the (undamaged) Deathfiles. Death stood at the middle of the wreckage and raised a brow.

"I believe this is the result of…" Marcaunon cocked his head to the side as he listened with attention at the omnipotent being. "Another one of Master's endless tantrums."

He deadpanned at Death's smirk and groaned. Even after two decades of being with the immortal deity, he was still exasperated by Death's constant need to annoy him to death.

"… I am in awe of your spectacular conclusion, Death. Bravo!" He sneered out, although not unkindly –more like resigned.

Death chuckled fondly (not a friendly sound if one were to not know It well) and gingerly picked the nearest folder up. It skimmed through the documents at an inhumane rate, Its eyes moving left to right and up to down. Marcaunon could clearly see his servant's face, seeing that Its hood was for once down without prompt –It was probably relaxing somewhere (a battlefield perhaps) before being called.

Its features were ethereal, with waist length hair as dark as the night sky and was parted to one side neatly, a few strands tucked behind Its pierced elongated pointed ears –the Deathly Hallows symbol glinted when lights hit at a perfect angle.

It looked similar to what Harry Potter once appeared to be before his soul was contaminated by Tom Riddle's, although taller and with neater hair. The aura the omnipotent being emitted was awe-inspiring and spine-chilling at the same time, making many animals (and mortals with higher intuition and instinct) fear being in Its very presence for more than a few seconds. The reason why his beloved familiar wasn't in the room as well –Suki had all but fled (through a snake hole) at the mention of Death's name.

Its eyes were the color of death itself, the same shade of green as the Killing Curse (or Harry Potter's previous eye color), stood contrast to Its naturally ashen skin tone. Marcaunon knew that only blackened blood flow through the immortal's veins, seeing that those were the main ingredients for the creation of Dementors.

Its long elegant fingers twitched as It closed the folder gently. With an uncharacteristic scowl on Its features, Marcaunon knew that those bloody Deathfiles were trouble. Just his luck.

"It appears that another universe is going through a zombie apocalypse at this very moment."

"Inferi?"

"Zombies."

"Animated corpses from Necromancers?"

"Zombies."

"Experimented Wizards that had their brains tinkered into loving flesh from their own kind?"

"Zombies."

"Rituals of human eating mud golems –"

"Zombies."

"… The kind that came out from Parasite TV programs?"

Death nodded wisely with a hint of amusement in those Avada colored orbs. Marcaunon blinked once, twice, and thrice as his brain tried to process the information that yes, zombies are indeed real –not inferi, but real brain eating zombies. So the programs that Duddikins love to watch on TV were actually real…?

"I'm sensing that there's more, and that I won't like it one bit."

"Master won't."

"… I'm ready, so hit me." Death raised Its fist as if to really hit him and Marcaunon gave a (manly) squeak. "Not literally!" Being hit by Death wasn't in his to do list, and it hurt like hell (that's saying something since his pain tolerance was as high as the sky).

Death looked at him with innocent eyes and his brow twitched at the expression. Death and innocent don't belong in the same sentence.

"I was hoping that this would not happen until Master is used to paperwork," Like hell he'll ever be used to those abominations! "since I have yet to encounter another zombie apocalypse in nearly millennia."

"Just tell me about the bad news already!" The suspense was killing him.

"The folders would continue to grow until…" Marcaunon became pale at the mere mentioning of more paperwork. "All the zombies are dead."

"How long does that usually take?" Marcaunon dreaded the question just as it left his lips.

Death sighed and rubbed Its temples with those slender fingers of Its. He suddenly had the urge to issue Death an order –to run those digits through his untamed hair just to sooth his growing headache. As much as it pained him to do so, he resisted the temptation.

"Either until the dimension itself explodes –no dimension is able to sustain at not having any living creatures in it– or a mortal creates a cure to counter the mutation. It could take up to decades."

"Decades!?" He cried out, horrified. "I'll have this amount for decades!?"

"… Yes Master."

This can't be happening. He would not take this lying down. Just the usual stacks of paperwork were more than enough for him to have sleepless nights–

An idea suddenly came to him and it made Marcaunon grin broadly. Death's body became tensed as It saw Its Master's grin –It had already learnt the hard way that  _that_  kind of grin would normally meant that Its Master was planning something, and that something It would probably not like (or wish to know).

"You are able to travel to different dimensions, are you not?"

"… Yes…"

"And I am able to as well, am I right?"

"… Correct."

"Will there be any complications, seeing as I am not de-aging myself?"

"I don't see a problem with it." There was a suspicious glint in Death's eyes and he smiled reassuringly, which actually brought out the opposite effect –not that he noticed of course.

"Is the time corresponding with the time here?"

"Time matters not to me, Master."

"That settles it then." He stood up with an excited shine in his scarlet orbs. "We're going on a vacation tonight, Death!" He was never one to stand idly whilst slowly being killed by paperwork. If a cure is needed to cut his workload down, a cure he will assist them in making.

"… Pardon? Master?"

Marcaunon ignored Death's flabbergasted expression and skipped towards the entrance, intending to pack. With him being excited as he skipped along, he missed two owls that had entered through his door (which had an owl flap on it) and dropped their respective letters on his desk.

One was address to Ignatius Rose, whilst the other was address to Marcaunon Gaunt –both from the same sender.

* * *

Rainbows and Footies,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: Dropped to another dimension!**

* * *

 

_May 1967  
Location: Hogwarts Dungeons – Study_

"Death?" Marcaunon called out as he directed his clothes into his bottomless sling shoulder bag via Magic.

"Yes Master?"

"I was wondering…" He started. "Why am I the one doing another dimension's paperwork? I thought you've already assigned a Head Reaper for each respective dimension to do it?"

"They're ordered to evacuate their dimension when a virus induced zombie apocalypse happens –and to only go back after it settles or after Life created another world to replace the previous one."

"… Wait wait wait." Marcaunon raised a brow at Death. "There's Life? I thought there only existed the Creator?"

"There is. Life and the Creator are one and the same. However Its not corporeal as I am… It just is."

"Alright…?"

Death only shrugged Its shoulders lazily and Marcaunon got the sudden urge to smack the entity. Was it that hard to give him a proper explanation?

"So when all your reapers evacuate, all the paperwork fall to me?"

"Yes. To put it bluntly, Master, the world has a 99% chance of exploding –and I would rather the Head Reaper pass his workload to Master than risk recreating all of that world's reapers."

"Can't they do it during their free time? Or wait until the  _very_  last minute?"

"The world may explode at any time, and they don't have free time, Master. Once they leave, they head to their dimension's parallel world to help their colleagues."

"… Just admit that you're being petty, Death."

It shrugged nonchalantly with a smirk on Its features. How irritating!

"Where do all the souls go if the world explodes?" Marcaunon zipped his bag and slipped it on his shoulder.

"They'll still remain in their respective realms at that dimension, though their suffering will prolong –for sinners that is. Life requires at least millennia to recreate a world –and all the living beings– from scratch."

Death followed a step behind him as he moved towards his bathroom. With a snap of Marcaunon's fingers, all of his toiletries were inside his bag. He double checked that he had not left anything (which wasn't really required since he could just conjure them) before nodding to himself.

"So each dimension has their own set of souls?"

"Yes."

"How old is my soul by the way?" He asked curiously as he tried to fight a losing battle with his hair. Perhaps a comb wasn't the most powerful of  _weapons_ …?

"As old as I am, Master." Death answered in his own mysterious way that made Marcaunon's brow twitch in what could be identified as annoyance.

"So are there souls older than you?" Death snorted inelegantly and Marcaunon raised a brow. Seeing the ethereal being in front of him snorting was weird.

"I could be considered the oldest."

"What about Life?"

"That thing can't be counted." It stated rudely as Its lips tilted downwards.

Marcaunon was the one who snorted this time. It seemed to him that Death despises the entity called Life –not surprising really. They're polar opposites.

"You said I am as old as you, but you also said that you're the oldest in existence… Quite contradicting." He supplied with a slight shake of his head.

"Indeed."

He waited for Death to continue… which obvious It would not. Marcaunon resisted the urge to run a knife through his servant's torso and took a deep calming breath.

"Forget it." Marcaunon murmured as he pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Just to clarify once more… We'll only be gone for a few seconds in this dimension even after spending years in that zombie infested one?"

"Yes Master."

"Alright. How do we travel?"

"Like this, Master."

Without even a warning, a portal opened beneath Marcaunon's feet. He only had a split second to process the lack of footing before he squeaked (a very manly squeak) out a few curse words that would make even the most brutal of sailors blush like school girls.

"DEEEEAAATHH!"

Death could only cackle as It watched Its Master fall through the inky portal. It was always one to hold grudges –and It had a lot thanks to Its Master's constant temper tantrums. And to answer Its Master's previous statement, yes, It was being petty. Coffee stains were hard to get rid of.

* * *

_Date: Unknown_  
Location: Unknown  
Dimension: Unknown

Marcaunon groaned as he held his head with both hands, trying and failing to relieve his growing headache. After Death (that fucking bastard) had dropped him through the portal, quite literally he might add, he landed on his face and died on impact due to the great height. Even though he revived soon after, the experience of his skull and brain regenerating was unpleasant –thank Merlin for his high pain threshold.

After he gave up on trying to reduce the headache, he scanned his surrounding area and noticed that he was currently in a forest, surrounded by nothing but trees. He absentmindedly swatted away some red butterflies that were flocking his bloodied hair before doing a double take. Why were his (always) pure white butterflies red?

He poked one of the butterflies that were swaying in front of his face and blinked owlish when his (extremely sharp) nails stabbed right through one of the wings. This one's too fragile. Marcaunon turned his head around and frowned when he saw none of his.

Should he wait for Death to appear and explain where he currently was and where his precious butterflies were?

… Maybe not. Death's petty streak was probably going to continue for a while longer. He actually died from the unexpected fall! What kind of prankster kills their victims in one of their pranks!?

Just as Marcaunon was about to stand up, he heard rustling and turned towards the sound.

Standing just a few meters away from him was a freakishly tall man with pale skin, almost the same shade as Marcaunon's, and a fairly toned stature –he was slender and it made him appear more taller. The man's short hair was sleeked and spiked at the back, and Marcaunon stared at the color –intrigued by it. He idly wondered if the neon pink hair was natural.

The man's sharp, thin slanted amber eyes (what a pretty color) showed his Asian origins, however his facial structure and nose stated otherwise. Marcaunon tilted his head to the side as he tried to imagine the man's sharp cheekbones cutting through glass and nodded to himself that yes, the man's face was very pointy and if Marcaunon were to ask a woman of her opinion, she would declare the man a hottie without a thought.

Other than his features, what attracted Marcaunon to constantly stare at the man's face was because of the two painted symbols on either of the man's cheek. A maroon star was on his right cheek, and on the other was a green teardrop. His clothing was similar to that of a jester, and as Marcaunon's eyes travelled downwards, he noted the pointy jester shoes (no heels sadly) –the bell hat was the only piece missing. On his left chest was a white circular badge with the number 384.

The man's lips were tilted upwards and Marcaunon had a feeling that that was his permanent expression. Judging by the appearance, Marcaunon deduced that the man has a playful personality, though because of the aura he emitted, he added in sadistic as well.

"Kimi…" Marcaunon's brain translated the rest of Pinkie's words into English – Japanese was one of the many languages he had previously learnt. "…I didn't see you at any of the Hunter exam stages before." Pinkie stated as his tongue flicked outwards to lick his lips. Marcaunon traced the movements before amber met scarlet.

"Hunter exam?" Marcaunon frowned and slowly stood up. "This may seem like a really foolish question… But are there zombies roaming around?"

There was silence for a couple of seconds before Pinkie chuckled creepily.

"Not at all~" He sang with mirth dancing in those amber orbs. "Your head must've been hit quite hard for you to imagine such things~"

Marcaunon touched his bloodied head and glared at the appendage –to be reminded of his death by Death made his blood boil with rage.

"Ah… An unfortunate landing is all." He waved nonchalantly and hummed in thought.

So Death had decided to drop him off at the wrong dimension –intentionally he might add. Death had never made a mistake before, he would know. Its pettiness has gone up to another level. The reminder of his paperwork increasing every minute whilst he was uselessly wondering around made his blood pressure rise.

Just as sudden as his rage went up, it disappeared the next second with a sigh.

"I'm getting soft…" Marcaunon murmured before asking Pinkie. "Is it alright if you would point me to the direction of a town or city?"

"Hmm~" Pinkie took a few steps closer as he mockingly hummed in thought. "Who knows?~"

Marcaunon deadpanned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, where his spectacles were currently  _not_  perched on –damn Death for making him lose it… and damn this guy's attitude. Pinkie was definitely the sort to only give out information if it made him gain something –a Slytherin through and through.

"Do you even know where we are….?"

"Hisoka."

"Right. Hisoka then."

"And to answer your question… Not at all~"

Marcaunon resisted the urge to facepalm and let out a huff of air. It was obvious that the man was lying. Was it that hard to give a solid answer from the goodness of one's heart?

"Well then, it was nice meeting you, Hisoka." Marcaunon started to walk away, but Pin–Hisoka was suddenly in front of him.

Marcaunon startled and took a step back in shock. How in the seven hells did Hisoka…? He doubted that this person knew how to apparate –there was no Magic in his system, but there was something else. A reason why he didn't outright kill the man for being a Parasite.

Maybe Hisoka was the result of a genetic mutation? Marcaunon was one to never deny his desires, so if he wanted to know something, he would do everything to find the answer.

"Hey… What do you call that?"

"Call what?~"

"The energy inside of you." He tilted his head to the side curiously as he trailed his eyes downwards until they reached Hisoka's torso, where the origin of it all was located at.

"Oh this?~"

Marcaunon noticed immediately that the energy had seeped into the poker card in Hisoka's right hand. The card was then thrown to him and Marcaunon blinked when it embedded into his left shoulder.

"Yes that. I've never seen something as curious as that." Without much thought, his Magic froze the body standing a few steps away from him.

Hisoka's expression changed from playful to wary instantly.

"What did you do to me?" Hisoka demanded with a narrowed eyed glare. It would've spooked Marcaunon out by the murderous intent Hisoka was focusing on him, however he was already used to such things thanks to Voldemort.

"No need to be alarmed," Marcaunon started as he walked towards Hisoka. "I only wish to check on something."

Marcaunon grabbed Hisoka's chin and pulled the man downwards so that they were both at eye level (how he wish he was just as tall). He dived into Hisoka's mind and grabbed all the useful information he needed for this world.

In that split second that Marcunon was within Hisoka's mind, the man (victim) himself felt agony beyond anything he had ever experienced and gritted his teeth to stop the scream that almost slipped out from his lips.

Marcaunon found out that this man, Hisoka, was also known as Hisoka the Magician. He was obviously male, blood type B, and was born at the month of June 6. The physically older male was twenty eight years old and Marcaunon had to whistle at that. Hisoka looked no older than in his early twenties. That was some good genes he inherited.

Hisoka's favorite food, if it could be called that, was gum –Bungee Gum to be exact, and he likes stickers as well. He actually collects them because he thought they were cute. Marcaunon hid a chuckle and continued on, not minding at all that he was violating a person's privacy.

The man's fighting ability was graceful as it was cruel. He changes his fighting abilities depending on his opponents, and has immense physical strength –he was even able to shatter rocks and incapacitate skilled fighters with just his pinky finger. Marcaunon doubted that the Parasites in his dimension could even hold a light to this man (people would normally call him a monster, but wasn't Marcaunon one as well?).

Other than the man's strength, his speed, flexibility and reflexes were top notched as well. Marcaunon was thoroughly impressed and decided that he wanted to know more (he was totally forgetting his original purpose).

Hisoka's pain tolerance wasn't as high as his, but it was something to be commended for. They both won't blink at having their limbs cut off, but Marcaunon doubted that Hisoka could still continue to appear unfazed when having acid poured into his wounds and organs.

What interested Marcaunon more was Hisoka's brilliant mind. The way this person thinks and strategizes was almost at the level of Tom Riddle, and that's saying something. Marcaunon suddenly had the temptation to drag Hisoka to his dimension, kicking and screaming, before pushing the thought out.

When he finally remembered his original purpose of his  _visitation_  to Hisoka's mind, he mentally berated himself and dived deeper –forgoing the man's background.

After a few more twists and turns, he finally stumbled upon the information regarding the energy he was so interested in. The energy was called Nen, or Mind Force, and is a technique that allowed a living being to use and manipulate their own life energy, also known as aura.

Aura is an energy produced by all living beings. They are vital and if one were to lose their entire aura, it would be equivalent to using up all the energy that was keeping them alive –which would prove fatal. The pores or points on the body from which the energy flowed out from are called Aura Nodes, and controlling those nodes was the first step to being a Nen user.

The methods of learning and initiating Nen wasn't something Marcaunon could do, seeing that his Magic wasn't the same as this dimension's aura –his was far superior (modesty wasn't something he and Chaos knew… mentally that is).

Marcaunon was disappointed but carried on.

There were a lot information regarding this, and Marcaunon idly skimmed through them. If he were to stay in this dimension for more than a week, he would dive into another person's mind for further his knowledge, but for now…

A  _Hunter_  is someone that has already proven themselves through rigorous examinations to be an elite member of humanity. Marcaunon doubted Hisoka was something humanity would even consider elite –perhaps an elite villain. After they passed the examinations, they are rewarded with a license, and with that license, they are able to travel anywhere around the world or do almost anything –even murder without going to jail.

Normal Hunters would devote themselves to tracking down priceless items, mystical places, and the unseen wonders of the world, whereas Hisoka wanted to be a Hunter so that he could legalize his kills.

A shrewd way of thinking, but Marcaunon agreed whole heartedly.

Hisoka was currently at the fourth stage of the Hunter examinations. Each of the examinees are given a card with a number that represented the badge number of their target, and is required to steal said target's badge whilst protecting their own. The methods are up to them, so killing was accepted.

They were currently at Zevil Island, and it way very, very far away from civilization.

He exited Hisoka's mind and just as he left, Hisoka dropped to the ground twitching ever so slightly.

"Ah… My bad." Marcaunon apologized (not at all sincere) to the fallen man. "It's been too long since I legilimized someone." Mind rape actually, but that word is so crude.

Hisoka stood up on shaky legs with a death glare aimed towards Marcaunon.

Whilst the man was feeling murderous rage at him, Marcaunon himself was impressed. A normal Parasite would've died soon after he left their mind, but this person actually disregarded what was considered normal.

"What did you do to me?" Was gritted out.

"I merely took some information I requir–" He was interrupted by a familiar presence and sighed through his nose. "I already said I was sorry for spilling coffee at your favorite cloak didn't I, Mort?"

Death's sudden appearance made Hisoka jump away from them. He could sense that the jester was terrified of Death, like all others that had powerful intuition –they knew on instinct that Death was someone they couldn't kill.

"Master is only sorry if it involves little Lord." It stated matter of factly before grinning widely, Its sharpened teeth on display. "I apologize for entering the wrong coordinates for our destination. Shall we be going?"

"Like hell you would make such an elementary mistake." He whispered under his breath before nodding. He turned towards Hisoka and smiled honestly –the man reminded him too much of his son. "Perhaps I'll come visit you with my son some time in the future, Hiso-chan."

With that, Death wrapped one of Its arm around his waist and a portal opened underneath them. The last thing he saw was Hisoka's wide eyed intrigued gaze.

* * *

_Date: Unknown_  
Location: Unknown  
Dimension: Unknown

Marcaunon blinked to clear his vision once he felt Death removing Its arm around his waist. His scarlet eyes roamed the area he was currently at and he arched a brow.

All types of vehicles were abandoned, overturned, destroyed or currently on fire. The street was littered with all sorts of papers, chairs, bicycles and dark red stains. Some of the street poles were even broken or bent in weird angles. The building doors were wide opened, as if people had rushed out, and almost all the windows had spider cracks and reddish liquid on them. He could literally smell the familiar metallic tang of blood and fear in the air.

A newspaper suddenly flew in his direction and he snatched it out in the air –a seeker's reflexes and eyes are always on alert.

_The Raccoon City Times_  
THE DEAD WALK!  
Horror in Raccoon! More victims dead!

_The dead are walking, and it's no movie advertisement. There were several eye witnesses–…_

He grinned. It felt great to be on vacation.

* * *

Rainbows and Bloodlust,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14: A great holiday gone wrong.**

* * *

 

_Date: 27 September 2002_  
Location: Raccoon City  
Dimension: Resident Evil 2 – Apocalypse [Spoiler warning for those who have never heard of RE]

Marcaunon hummed a lightly aired funeral march as he popped a piece of all-flavor-jellybeans into his mouth –oh chocolate pudding, his favorite! His face was impassive as he observed (via spyglass) the scene that was being played a few hundred meters north of him.

Raccoon City, where he had been dropped off by Death (the entity had left soon after, stating that It had to personally direct souls to the after-realms), was currently under  _lock down mode_  –Umbrella Corporation had built a metallic fortress around the whole City. Their sole purpose was to contain the citizens to prevent further infection –or more zombies from being born. They may seemed like they were doing the whole world good, but it was because of them that this dimension was on the verge of exploding into smithereens.

The creator of the T-Virus, a virus that basically reanimates the dead, worked as an Umbrella scientist. That was enough for Marcaunon to despise the entire Corporation. They were the guilty party for his unnecessary load of paperwork on his desk after all.

However, everything was too easy thanks to his Magic –it wasn't even a challenge to find out about the whole situation. It became too boring and he was supposed to be on vacation –that meant fun time. Imagine a video game where you started off as a max level character with full equipment and over powered stats. Boring right?

After collecting all the information he needed, he had decided that using Magic was a no no, unless in dire situations that is. Thanks to that, he did things the normal way and searched the whole city for five bloody hours for the creator of the T-Virus –which he failed spectacularly.

So now he was currently snacking away his frustrations as he watched the horde of people (he decided not to call them Parasites in this dimension, seeing that there was no such thing as Magicals) trying desperately to exit Raccoon City –they were like lab rats trying to find a way out of a maze the scientist had put them in.

He felt amusement as he stared at the only exit of this entire city –two huge mechanical gates that were currently being guarded by armed officers. The citizens were trapped, and they know it. That was why they were behaving like headless chickens.

Marcaunon swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the edge of a tall building's roof –a bag of snacks on his left side whilst his spyglass was on his lap. He took another piece of jelly beans and stared at it –fascinated by how yellow it was. Death had always said that his attention span was like a child's when left alone with nothing to do.

He suddenly perked up and looked through his spyglass when he saw how the horde's movements became frantic. The mechanicals gates that were supposed to be opened for uninfected citizens to  _evacuate_  had closed.

A man suddenly took out a megaphone and Marcaunon tilted his head. He recognized the man from when he had read through the high-ranking employee files. Timothy Cain, the person responsible for the containment and outbreak of Raccoon City.

"This is a bio-hazard quarantine area, and due to the risk of infection, you are all not allowed to leave the city." Marcaunon leaned forward in interest whilst the crowd looked panicked. "All appropriate measures are being taken. The situation is under control. Please, return to your homes."

His lips quirked upwards. If this was considered 'under control', Marcaunon would've felt dread if he were one of those citizens down there. Really, no wonder Death had always found amusement in watching mortals –they make the most hilarious of jokes. Infected walking amok in the city was considered  _under control_. Gosh that guy cracked him up.

The horde ignored Cain's words as they continued to push forward, determined and too panicked to follow the provided instructions. The police were outnumbered 1:10, and it only made them all the more confident.

Marcaunon only popped the overly yellow jellybean passed his lips (ugh earwax flavor) as he watched with growing anticipation.

_BANG!_

The sound of a single gunshot made most of the people freeze in shock, and some even yelped.

"You have five seconds to turn around, and return to your homes."

The crowd was still unmoving whilst Marcaunon chuckled at their sheer stupidity. They were behaving like sheep waiting to be slaughtered! This continued on for another few minutes until the PA (public announcement) system suddenly came alive and announced that live ammunition was granted.

_Five._

_Four._

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

Marcaunon's scarlet orbs glinted and bled into crimson as his excitement grew, though his face remained its usually serene expression he often had before he had to don on his Hufflepuff mask.

Bullets were flying around everywhere and the area was slowly being covered by red. The people who had not escaped fast enough were screaming in pain and horror as their loved ones died in front of their eyes, and Marcaunon only laughed cruelly at their misfortune.

It has indeed been awhile since he had witnessed such unjustified slaughter –grading and paperwork had been taking too much of his time lately.

"Ah… How I've missed this so much…" He licked his upper lip and closed his eyes in bliss as he relished in the feeling of fear and carnage in the air. "So very much…"

_OOOO_

Marcaunon hummed a random tune as he bounced lightly along the deserted streets of… Well he didn't really know where he currently was at, only that there was a church in sight. He was currently dressed in a plain dark sleeveless hoodie and black jeans, to better blend in the dark, and even though he wore (very sharp) heeled combat boots, he made no sound as he skipped towards the building.

It had been so long since he even saw a church… and after the damn exorcism, he wasn't too keen on going anywhere near those buildings. However he pushed his feelings aside and continued onwards –he had sensed five presences inside, and he knew that only those who are skilled were the only ones capable of remaining alive during an outbreak of infected walking dead.

Without much effort, he sneaked passed some drooling infected and climbed through one of the many high windows. Why the people inside didn't take precaution to close all the windows was something truly foolish on their part. Even if the infected were unable to climb, loud noises could still be heard through the windows and the infected are curious creatures –they  _will_  investigate this church sooner than later. By daybreak the church would be infested by them.

The church's corridor was dark even with lit candles everywhere. He passed by chairs, statues, and doors until he spotted one with light shining within. Without a moment of hesitation or care about another person's privacy, he peeked through the keyhole and raised a brow at the sight. A priest (his eyes stayed on the man longer than necessary) was feeding a tied up woman… no… a tied up infected woman, a bloodied limb. He shrugged and moved on. A tied up dead woman and a spoon feeding priest were of no interest to him.

After a few more minutes of exploring (how careless of the priest to light up  _every single_  candle), the sound of someone's lightly tapping boots echoed softly throughout the hallway made him retreat into the shadows. A woman with blue eyes, chestnut colored bob hair, and mixed features –maybe Japanese and French– appeared along the corner. Her face would be considered attractive in the eyes of males.

Her eyes were narrowed in concentration as she walked carefully whilst holding her handgun in front of her –she must be a skilled shooter judging by her stance. She appeared to be in her twenties and was around 165 to 170cm tall, with a slender figure –the agility type he assumed.

She wore a blue tube top, with a white sweater wrapped around her black mini skirt, and a weapon holster strapped around her right thigh. Marcaunon gave her points for her brown knee length boots, however her overall appearance made him doubt her actual ability to handle a gun properly. She looked more like a woman that just came out from a nightclub than someone that had the capability for combat.

He wondered if there was an advantage in wearing such short and thin clothing –why not put on the sweater rather than tying it around her waist, wasn't it cold? And could she still maneuver around, like climbing or crawling, with that skirt on?

He halted his train of thoughts when she passed by before he advanced to the direction she had appeared from. He paused mid-step when he spotted a… weird red brainy thingy creature crawling along the walls and deadpanned. So the infected were able to evolve… but why would they evolve into something so ugly? That thing had no eyes! Why does it not have eyes!? How can it even see? Were they like snakes –using their tongues?

And look! He just proved his point about the windows. They should've closed it before ugly here crawled inside.

The brainy four legged creature thingy jumped hastily towards the ceiling and growled as it inched away from him carefully, before it continued to stalk its prey (the woman). Marcaunon only blinked and continued his steps. He took mental note of what just happened and frowned lightly –he should stay clear from any evolved infected from now on when in the presence of people.

He soon arrived at the entrance of the church's nave and blended into the shadows so that the occupants inside took no notice of his presence. The nave was lit around with candles as well. It was convenient for him, yet careless of them.

He stealthily climbed to one of the many horizontal ceiling beams and seated himself comfortable –Indian style. There were three people below of him, two men and a woman.

The first man he took notice of was a black man wearing the standard cop bullet proof vest and a white shirt underneath it. He wore a light brown cargo pants that had their hems tucked firmly into his black boots, with a weapon holster strapped around his right thigh. He also had his elbows and knees protected by some kind of pads.

Marcaunon skimmed the buzz cut black man's outer thoughts and discovered that his name was Peyton Wells, a S.T.A.R.S (Special Tactics And Rescue Squad) officer. Marcaunon hummed lowly and calculated that this man only had a few more hours left –judging by how grey the aura of death was.

The aura of death was something similar to a translucent shroud. It only appears when a person was near their expiry date, and darkens over time. It can be an accidental or sickness or even natural causes, like earthquakes and old age. Infected however were not shrouded by them because they've already passed their expiry date.

The second man Marcaunon spotted appeared meek and weak. His hands that were tightly holding a pistol (as if to reassure himself) were shaking violently in fear. He wore a blue button up shirt (that was wet with insane amount of sweat) and jeans. By the looks of his features, the blonde man –Angus Mackenzie– was Caucasian. He didn't look much like a fighter, and probably hid the minute he saw the infected. Marcaunon immediately dismissed the man. The aura of death surrounding Mackenzie was black –he would probably last for another ten minutes maximum.

His scarlet eyes moved onto the last person. She was a Hispanic woman with dark eyes and curly shoulder length hair. She would be considered average in the looks department. She wore a… he didn't really know what color of blazer she was wearing. Was it white, grey or very light green? He shrugged uncaringly and continued his observation. Her knee length skirt was the same shade of that unknown color, and in her hands was a digital video camera.

Marcaunon skimmed her thoughts and found out that she was called Terri Morales, an anchorwoman who aspired to be a journalist in order to work at Los Angeles or Chicago. She could forget about her dream though. Her aura was only a slightly lighter shade than the S.T.A.R.S officer, and even if she were to get out of Raccoon City in one piece, the future looked quite bleak for this world –zombie apocalypse does that.

He took out a bag of popcorn and munched on a piece (softly) whilst watching the three below. He would wait for the blue tube top wearing woman to leave this place, before he shadowed after her. She was the only one that would survive since he didn't see any aura shroud around her.

The sudden sound of a man's scream (probably the priest since his aura was black as well) was heard and the three stood up with haste, their heads turning left to right similar to those frightened rabbits he often saw Suki chasing. The woman, Terri, ran towards the double doors in her heels as she shouted over her shoulders.

"I'm getting outta here!" Her hands were already on the door handles.

"Hey!" Peyton shout-whispered as he rushed towards her. "No wait!"

Oh she shouldn't do that. Infected were standing  _everywhere_  outside.

When she opened the door, she screamed as she spotted a horde of infected rushing towards her and pushed the door close, with Peyton helping her. They were fighting a losing battle with the door due to the unlimited amount of strength the infected possessed, however what Marcaunon didn't expect was that the weakling, Mackenzie, to help them by taking a mallet (where that came from he didn't know) and shoving it through the two door handles as a make shift barricade.

Marcaunon licked his buttered fingers as he watched the two males aim their handguns towards the exit –as if the infected were strong enough to bulldozed through. Wrong thing to aim at, sweeties. There were two four legged brainy creature thingy on the ceiling and they were supposed to be focusing on  _that_ , not those harmless slow walking infected.

Some people really do have low observation skills.

The four legged brain–oh for Morgana's sake. He'll just call those things crawler. The first crawler suddenly growled lowly as it moved onto another spot near the altar. That gained the three's attention and they all looked around frantically.

Peyton was the first one to act smartly. He took out his flashlight to aim at the direction of the growling noises. They finally spotted  _one_  of the crawlers and gasped. Marcaunon understood their shock at those creatures' ugliness (what a huge misunderstanding). Even he felt that those things were beyond repair. Plastic surgery could only do so much after all.

"Jesus!" Who? Oh… Was it those human quirks where they say Jesus instead of Merlin or Morgana?

"W-what is that thing!?" It's an infected that evolved through unknown methods.

"Hey! Wh-where're you doing!?" Was shouted by Peyton as Mackenzie ran away. "Get back here!"

Idiot~ Predators always went for prey that fled solo. Marcaunon didn't bother to try and help the man. It was time. The shroud was pitched black and it wasn't even translucent now.

Whilst the idiot ran, Peyton dragged Terri behind one of the many pillars to hide from the predators and prepared himself by checking his ammo.

Mackenzie finally ran out of Marcaunon's sight and he waited for only another few seconds before he heard the man's scream of fear and despair. He took another piece of popcorn and tossed it up in the air before catching it with his mouth. What wonderful background music.

Just as it ended, the glass doors that was linked to the hallway and into the nave opened and the blue tube top woman entered. He mentally berated himself for getting distracted by her choice of clothing previously before he skimmed the surface of her mind. Her name was Jill Valentine, a S.T.A.R.S officer as well.

He blinked at how high ranked she was before she became the  _disgrace_  of the police force. He really should stop judging books by their covers.

She stalked forward and suddenly crouched near the pews. Marcaunon tilted his head to the side in curiosity. When Jill pulled out a pistol from below the many pews did he only understood her actions –dual wielders all looked so badass (again another misunderstanding on his part). As he was too busy praising her dual wielding stance in his head, he didn't notice that one of the ugly creatures had moved near him to drop Mackenzie's corpse onto the paws behind of Jill. They both jumped slightly due to the suddenly appearance of the body and the noise it made when it came contact with the pews.

Merlin's hairy testicles! Damn jump scares –real life edition.

Jill shot at the creature as a diversion and was quick to retreat, with Marcaunon's scarlet orbs following her movements until he lost sight of her once she hid behind one of the many pillars. He sighed and lay down on his back as he fingered his snack. It was risky to go down at this point of time, and he rather watched how it played out than intervened –Jill wasn't dying anytime soon anyway.

Maybe after he was tired of Jill will he go find the creator of the T-Virus. He needed the information in that man's head to create an Anti-Virus, as well as a serum that could potentially reverse the virus, and then save the world.

Wow… That sounded disgustingly cheesy.

Another few seconds passed by with him trying to rid his arms of goosbumps before he saw movements from the corner of his eyes. He sat up with his legs still crossed Indian style and leaned forward. Peyton had covered Jill's mouth and pulled her behind the pillar where he and Terri hid. Marcaunon thought back to the many criminal videos he had watched when bored and stifled a laugh that had almost escaped his lips. That was like a kidnaping slash rape way to gain someone's attention!

Whilst they whispered softly to themselves, Marcaunon was busy with covering his mouth –his shoulders were still shaking with mirth.

The two suddenly started shooting at their respective targets and Marcaunon ducked when one of the bullets came too near for comfort –what bad aiming they had. It wouldn't really hurt, but he didn't fancy dying again within twenty four hours –he had already died once when he was dropped at Hisoka's dimension.

Jill and her colleague continued for another minute before she cursed and said that her ammo was almost out. Whilst Marcaunon was weighing the pros and cons of entering the fight, the stained glass above the altar shattered into a million pieces and a person on a bike flew through.

Marcaunon only stared transfixed as he gave the person points for such a unique dramatic entrance.

The helmet was then removed and the rider with wet (or oily) light brown hair spoke fiercely.

"Move!"

The three automatically moved with haste away from the rider as she sped towards the ugly crawler before doing a backflip as she jumped off –he added another point for dramaticness. The predator turned prey was stupid enough to charge head on and became a firework when she shot two bullets into the bike's oil tank. What a waste of a perfectly good bike! The biker lady then twirled her dual pistols around and sheathed them into the holsters that were strapped around her thighs.

Marcaunon was impressed.

She then took out two uzi and started firing randomly at the second crawler, which leapt down in order to avoid her shots. The creature was positioned just below the altar and before it could move a step further, the giant cross that had a statue of a crucified male fell atop the crawler and made a pancake out of it.

Wow. She sure knew how to strategize. Marcaunon had thought that her aiming was off, but she had planned the whole thing –shooting at the chains whilst forcing the creature into moving at the direction she wanted. Astounding. Whilst Marcaunon was busy admiring the pancaked evolved infected, he missed how the biker woman had headshot-ed the third and final crawler with a shotgun. He jutted his lower lip out.

"Who… the fuck are you?" Jill demanded whilst Marcaunon munched on a kitkat. Shouldn't she be grateful that the dramatic biker lady saved their butts rather than demanding answers rudely?

Marcaunon trailed his eyes over Jill before stopping at the still wet blood trails on her boots. Maybe Jill was mad because biker lady had killed the creature near her and her boots got splattered with the creature's blood. Women and their shoes.

The biker lady just stared at Jill with her nose held high and Marcaunon inwardly cheered at the signs of a catfight. Fight, fight, fight!

"Before that," The woman's voice was raspy, as if she had not used it for a long time, or that she had screamed her throat raw. "why don't you ask the person sitting on the ceiling beams to come down?" She tilted her head upwards and stared directly into his direction.

Marcaunon's scarlet eyes widened in surprise before they roamed her body, taking note of her muscular yet slender figure. She was slightly taller than Jill, and had guns strapped all over her person. She wore a dark orange tank top under her mesh sleeveless shirt, and jeans that were weird in his eyes. The right side was long, whilst the left didn't even reach mid-thigh, though it did continue below her knee like a one piece leg warmer. Women fashion clothing made little sense to him, just look at what Jill was wearing! They were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse for Morgana's sake.

When he was finally done taking note of her clothing, his eyes returned to look into hers. The biker lady had strange eyes –and it made him want them all the more. Perhaps after she died, he would gouge out those eyeballs and put them in a display jar. Or maybe give them to Chaos as a souvenir.

He was a little curious about the aura of death surrounding her though. It would appear, disappear and reappear at random intervals –though it was only a darker shade of white, not yet grey. It was as if her fate wasn't already written, and she could change her death date depending on her choice.

"What?" Jill whispered as she squinted her eyes uselessly to try and see him. "Nobody's there. If you're trying to avoid–"

Marcaunon jumped down and landed softly on his boot clad feet, ignoring the way the video recording woman had fallen to her bum in shock.

"How did you notice me?" He raised a questioning brow at biker lady and popped his leftover kitkat into his mouth.

"You've been watching this whole time!?" Jill glared at him. "That man needed help!" She pointed at the meek man's corpse and continued to glare at him accusingly. Marcaunon only blinked as he licked chocolate off his fingers.

"He wasn't going to survive long anyway."

"You don't have the right to judge whether a person lives or dies!"

True. But he did have the right to judge whether a person gets tortured after they die or not.

"Jill…" Peyton placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

"H-how about some introductions?" Terri said as she pointed the camera his way.

"Why don't you tell yours first, my lady?" He bounced towards her and took her right hand, before kissing her knuckles playfully. He glanced up through his lashes to see her face reddening and took a step back as he dropped her hand. Was she angry? It was only a customary (pureblood) greeting.

"Terri, T-Terri Morales." She squeaked out.

"And you?" He pointed towards Peyton with his chin.

"Peyton Wells." Marcaunon nodded without even a change of expression.

He turned towards Jill, but didn't get the chance to ask.

"Jill Valentine. Now tell us who the fuck you are. The both of you." She scowled at the two newcomers and Marcaunon's lips quirked at her impatience. She was definitely someone he could poke around when bored –her reactions would be amusing.

"Ladies first." He gestured towards biker lady.

"Alice."

"Harry, Harry Potter. It's a  _pleasure_  to meet all of you." He purred.

Ah it has been a while since he referred himself as that.

_OOOO_

"We need to find somewhere to stop for a moment." Jill stated as she walked alongside her wounded colleague.

After their introduction, they had all agreed to group together until they were out of the city, so now they were currently walking in a graveyard –which was probably the most  _risk-free_  place during an outbreak of zombies, note the sarcasm– in order to avoid the horde of infected roaming the streets mindlessly.

Marcaunon glanced at the man's injured leg and tsked softly at the obvious bloodied bite mark. Peyton wouldn't last long, maybe three hours maximum, unless he was given the cure that is. He doubted that it has already been made though, but that was his original purpose for being here anyway. Once this dimension was zombie free, his desk would be free of extra paperwork –damn Death for throwing another dimension's work at him. He was Its Master for Merlin's sake.

He was so absorbed in his fantasy of lesser (none, was impossible) paperwork that he had not noticed that the group had stopped until he walked into a wall… Well not exactly. It was Alice, and she didn't even budge unlike he who had almost fallen.

Alice gave him a side glance before returning to her staring contest with Jill. They both had their guns out and pointed at each other. He only raised a brow at their antics as he moved to sit on top of a gravestone near him with his ankles crossed and his hands inside his hoodie pockets.

"That's considered disrespectful." Terri said as she stood beside him.

"Then they shouldn't have made the stones seatable then." Was seatable even a real word?

"What do you think you're doing?" Jill's voice made him turn towards her and he made a grab for one of his snacks… only to find them all already eaten. He scowled and wrote a mental note to get more afterwards.

"He's wounded. The infection's spreading." Alice stated matter of factly as she stared at Jill as if she was a little child asking how babies were made.

There was a few seconds of tensed silence before Peyton spoke.

"I'm fine."

"For now." Marcaunon added in helpfully, but only received a look that said he was anything but helpful.

"We should take care of him now." Alice said as if Marcaunon had not interrupted their  _conversation_. "It'll be more difficult later. You know that." She turned to Jill, her stoic face turned serious.

Jill only shook her head in denial as she glared at Alice.

"Or we can shoot him the moment he starts acting weirdly." His words were ignored once again as the two continued to try and stare the other into submission. Marcaunon crossed his arms. How rude of them.

"If it comes to that, I'll shoot him myself." Jill determinedly said as she walked forwards.

Alice's gun barrel was at Jill's throat before Alice sighed and turned around, her face showing indifference.

"Suit yourself." She faced Peyton. "You'll only last an hour or two. And moments later, you'll become one of them. You'll endanger your friends, try to kill them –and probably succeed." Her tone was light as if she was talking about the weather. It made Marcaunon cackle on the inside –Alice was similar to him in their boldness with words, however she said those to warn them (she was kind) whilst he would say those to taunt them (he can never be considered kind).

"Maybe we could stitch his lips together?" He suggested. That way Peyton won't be able to bite them even if he was turned.

"What is wrong with you!?" Jill whispered in disbelief as she stared at him, before turning away with her arms crossed. "You really are sick."

Marcaunon only tilted his head to the side, not understanding her anger. Normal infected can't transmit their virus through any other means and only via saliva or blood, so stitching the lips was the best solution if she didn't want Peyton to be shot. That way Peyton won't be able to infect them when he suddenly became one of those flesh eaters.

"It's a logical solution."

Peyton's face had turned a slighter shade of pale as he edged away from Marcaunon.

"I'm sorry." Alice spoke nonchalantly as she stared into Peyton's eyes. "It's just the way it is." The woman was yet again ignoring Marcaunon's words. It was endearing and it reminded him of Chaos at times, so he won't kill her. Yet.

The silence was thick with tension for the group as they avoided each other's gaze, excluding Marcaunon whom was idly staring at the stars without a care in the world, and Alice whom was busy checking her firearms.

Terri's sudden scream of panic made everyone snapped their heads towards her direction. Marcaunon could only stare at the rotten appendage, which was protruding from the ground and holding Terri's ankle, with a deadpanned. See,  _risk-free_  place alright. Who the hell chose to walk at a graveyard during a zombie apocalypse again?

Jill was the first one to react as she ran to Terri and tried to pull her away from the infected's hold. The second was Alice.

She kicked the zombie's head once it had left the ground and a sickening crack was heard. Terri's ankle was immediately released upon impact but just as the group was about to relax, hands began to dig their way out of the many graves.

The T-Virus sure was amazing. It was even able to seep underground and reanimate decade old corpses.

His group all began breaking the infected's neck (apart from Terri), not wanting to use their firearms in case the sound attracted more of those drooling flesh eaters. Marcaunon hopped off the gravestone he had sat on and avoided a rotten hand that made a swipe at his ankles.

"Ah… Sorry about seating on your gravestone I guess?" He smiled at the owner of said gravestone and proceeded to kick the infected's head with his (automatically) Magic induced muscles, which made it fly off and hit Terri, who screamed at the sudden appearance of a decapitated head on her lap.

Alice was quick to slap her palm on Terri's mouth and looked disapprovingly at him.

"Wasn't on purpose I assure you." He ducked under another zombie's arm and twisted around before snapping the neck. His hands should be sanitized thoroughly before he even thinks about consuming any future snacks.

They continued this for another few minutes before Alice spoke up.

"There's too many of them."

"Way to state the obvious." Marcaunon grunted as he flipped another zombie to the ground before stepping hard on its nape. Something about breaking necks gave him immense satisfaction.

"You're having w-way too much fun, Harry." Terri stuttered as she moved closer to him. He turned to her after he kicked yet another infected in the back.

"It's… therapeutic." Destroying these humanoid zombies diminished most of his never ending bloodlust for Parasites at the moment. That was considered therapeutic right?

"Let's get the hell out of here." Alice announced whilst she moved swiftly away.

Jill agreed with her as she slung Peyton's arm around her shoulders and rushed behind Alice, the group following her closely behind.

They ran and jogged all the way until they had lost the horde. Terri was breathing loudly from the  _workout_  as she leant heavily on him (ugh), and Marcaunon wondered why she was still wearing her heels during the run. Marcaunon himself had no problems with running in his heeled combat boots, though he very much preferred not having to wear shoes at all –however he needed them to blend in better.

After their run, they had ended up near a ginormous white building and were walking near it. The pillars made great hiding spots to avoid random bypassing zombies.

Marcaunon subtly pushed the woman off of him and strode towards Alice and Jill. He preferred these two rather than those hopeless (Peyton) and helpless (Terri) people.

"Those were some pretty sleek moves back there." Jill started. "I'm good." Someone sure was lacking in the modesty department. "But I'm not that good."

"You should be grateful to have me." Another one that wasn't modest. Marcaunon snickered –the three of them made a good team (of not modest people that is).

"Oh I know I am." He purred. Without Alice he wouldn't be having this much fun.

Alice only gave him a side glance before turning back to Jill. How cold.

"They did something to me." She said solemnly, but before she could continue, the phone near them suddenly started ringing. What bad timing. He wanted to know what happened to Alice.

"It would be wise to move." He said and walked ahead.

They followed after him as they tried to ignore the constant ringing from each payphone they passed by, which no doubt was attracting unwanted attention, until Alice got annoyed and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" She sounded really annoyed, which reflected on her otherwise stoic face. "Who is this?"

"What do you think it's about?" Terri spoke from behind him and he hid his annoyance at her presence. Did he do something to make her like his company or something?

"We'll know soon enough." He replied evenly.

_OOOO_

Marcaunon was sat at the back of the bus they had just hijacked (it was empty anyway), away from the group, as he stared at the night sky above. Dr. Ashford had requested (more like threatened) them to seek out his daughter, Angela, from her school and bring her to him.

He had given them the location, and description of his daughter. He had also promised the group that if they were to succeed, he would give them the means to escape from the perimeter.

How convenient that the man Marcaunon was searching for made contact with his group. Now that he knew that he would end up meeting Dr. Ashford no matter what, he could play all he wanted without a time limit –he just had to make sure that Angela was brought back alive and in one piece.

He licked his upper lip and hid a demented grin behind his hand.

"–Raccoon city will be completely sanitized." Alice stated as she pumped her shotgun.

"W-what do you mean by sanitized?" Terri asked, looking far too confused.

"Precision tactical nuclear devise." Alice murmured as she stared into Jill's eyes, totally ignoring Terri.

"What yield?"

"Five kilotons [1]."

"What…?" Jill laughed with no humor. "Fuck me."

"What does that mean?" Terri demanded.

"It means that a nuclear bomb will be dropped by sunrise, and it will wipe out all of Raccoon City." Marcaunon answered helpfully as he made his way over.

She looked shocked and could only imitate a fish out of water.

"One would wonder where you've learn that." Alice said as she stretched lightly.

"I read weird shit." He answered with a smirk.

"Bullshit!" Peyton exclaimed with rage in his eyes. "There's no way they'll get away with that! It'll be all over the fucking news!"

"Cover up." Terri said with sudden realization. "They can say that it was just a tragic accident."

"Very likely the case." He hummed in agreement.

Marcaunon tuned them out from this point on. He didn't understand their worries. Before Umbrella Corporation could drop the bomb (quite literally), they would already be out of this city. He had no doubt that Alice alone was enough to find the key–ahem girl, to exit this city.

He had sensed something in her, but it wasn't Magic. It was somewhat similar to Nen, but not entirely. It was confusing at best and the only way for him to figure the energy out was to delve deep into her mind –and he doubted that she would survive, Hisoka being the only Parasite exception to the rule.

But back to the topic at hand, their worries were unneeded and it was useless to wonder about the  _what ifs_. Peyton was hotheaded and Marcaunon scoffed at the black man. How he was hired to be a cop was a mystery itself.

Alice stood up with a determined light shining in her eyes.

"Let's go."

They exited the bus and brisk walked towards the direction of the school.

When they arrived at a bridge, the two ladies (he already removed Terri from that category) were bad mouthing the organization and Dr. Ashford. Marcaunon hid a chuckle behind his hand as he listened to them. So even kickass ladies like them could gossip.

"–like some kind of sick game." Jill and her constant word of  _sick_.

"What's goin on?" Peyton asked as Alice stopped walking all of the sudden.

"Wait."

"Sunrise ain't gonna wait."

"No. There's something down there."

"Where?" Jill stood on her tippie toes as she tried to see the thing Alice was seeing.

"There." Alice pointed at the direction of a car that was on fire about fifty meters away from them.

Marcaunon's Magic tendrils reached out and he hummed at the feeling of rage and hatred coming from the direction that Alice pointed at. He kept silent, wanting to see how this would play out. He was also curious as to how Alice noticed such a thing from so far away. Was it because of her not-Nen?

"I'm gettin sick of this bullshit!" Peyton gritted out and strode forwards to the railings of the bridge.

"Peyton!" Jill called out and placed a hand on the man's shoulder to calm him, but he just shrugged off the appendage and continued onwards.

See? Hotheaded.

A barrage of bullets suddenly went flying towards Peyton and he rolled away hurriedly, though he was far too slow to avoid them. The bullets had hit him all over, and Marcaunon knew that it was the end for the S.T.A.R.S officer.

"Nemesis…" Alice murmured in disbelief before she looked at them with panic. "Go! Run!"

Whilst Terri ran towards Jill, Marcaunon watched nonchalantly at how the black shroud pulled a bluish orb, the size of an adult's head, out of Peyton's cold body. He walked calmly towards the corpse whilst Alice jumped down the bridge to distract their unwanted company.

Jill was in tears as she tried to stop Peyton's wounds from further bleeding, whilst Terri stood awkwardly near them. As soon as he arrived in front of the corpse, the shroud wrapped itself around the bluish orb and bobbed towards him. He subtly plucked the blackened orb out of the air and returned his hand into his hoodie's pockets.

"Help me!" She shouted as she stared at him with wide desperate teary eyes. "Harry!"

Marcaunon only stared at her as he made no move to help her. Peyton was already gone. After the soul (the bluish orb) had been wrapped by the shroud, it can only be removed by Death –and not even he, the Master of Death, could bring the dead back to life when the soul was safely within the shroud. It was like a locked box with only Death himself as the key. If he wanted to revive a person fully and not turn them into mindless inferi, he needed the soul to be untouched by the shroud.

He fingered the soul in his pocket as he hummed lightly –another one to pass to Death afterwards.

"He's gone, Jill." He stated uncaringly and walked towards a vehicle near them. "We should meet up with Alice at the school."

"You… You insensitive son of a…!" Jill shouted, her voice shaking.

"I already know that." He looked over his shoulder and watched unfazed as the anger in Jill's eyes heightened. "And you should keep your voice down. Never know where those meat lovers are."

Marcaunon turned around to lean against the vehicle's door. This was getting tiresome –emotions were just not his thing. He sincerely had no idea why she was even crying. She already knew that Peyton was living on borrowed time –he was infected remember? So what if he died earlier than expected? He would've still died anyhow.

Another five minutes passed by before Jill finally stood up and entered the vehicle. She immediately began hotwiring the car. Marcaunon followed her example but sat at the seat behind her, before closing the door after him.

He materialized a small jar from his pocket dimension, not even the size of his palm, and pushed the soul inside. The orb resized to fit the jar as it passed through the opening, and only after it was fully inside did he push a cork after it. The jar then disappeared into his bottomless sling bag.

This made a total of one thousand six hundred and eighty souls he had on his person. That meant he had one thousand six hundred and eighty more paperwork on his desk –not forgetting the ones Death Itself had personally reaped.

He dropped his face into his palms and groaned. Paperwork was such a mood downer.

Whilst he was busy sulking at the prospect of lesser free time, he startled when zombie Peyton suddenly appeared beside Jill and begun to attack her –curse his paperwork induce inattentiveness! He only watched detachedly as she struggled to fight the bigger and stronger infected man off of her, with Terri screaming in fear.

Another few seconds of struggle before she managed to land a kick at zombie Peyton's midsection. It made him take a few steps backwards, but that was enough. She took out her handgun and with a constipated (pained) expression, shot his forehead.

"W-why?" Jill suddenly whispered as she turned to him. "Why didn't you help me? You were right there."

"I was respecting your wish."

"What?"

He looked at her weirdly. Did she forget?

"You said, and I quote, 'if it comes to that, I'll shoot him myself'."

She stayed silent as she stared vacantly at him, before she turned to close the door and stepped on the gas –quite hard he might add. He only blinked in confusion as he tilted his head. She was always angry with him no matter what he did or say. Women were hard to understand…

Just as they were off the bridge, Marcaunon spoke his mind.

"I told you we should've stitched his lips."

"Not. Another. Word."

He frowned and closed his eyes. He would listen to her order just this once. It was the least he could do to not antagonize her further –she  _was_  the one driving the car.

His muscles soon began to involuntarily relax themselves and he fell into a light state of slumber. He had not slept for more than twenty hours, so of course he would be exhausted.

He dreamt about being seated under a cherry blossom tree with Death smirking beside him, and Chaos standing only a few feet away, playing with the two serpents on a field of grass. His son was giggling and laughing happily, and it made him smile at the picture of innocence little Chaos made. The breeze was fresh and he hummed a light funeral march as he stared up into the blue sky, with white fluffy clouds the shape of chocolate bars floating lazily around.

* * *

_He blinked his scarlet eyes and was suddenly startled when the blue sky was replaced by acid green. Marcaunon looked around in panic as he could not spot either Marchosias or Death anywhere. He felt cold. Extremely cold as thunder and lightning flashed across the hideous sky, and only polluted rain fell onto his skin._

_It burnt._

_Tears soon appeared in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his shivering body. Was everything all a dream? Did he only fantasize about a world where he had a son and a friend that would never betray him? Could his insane mind take no more and had created a world where he could feel happiness –even for just a fraction? An illusionary trap?_

_Marcaunon's eyes blanked as he blinked the tears out of his eyes. How cruel of his mind to do such a thing to him._

_He didn't want to live anymore if everything was only an illusion. He wanted to die. Why wasn't he allowed to? Was it because it was his fault that the Wizarding world fell into the hands of those without Magic? Was it because of that sin did Death not want his soul? Was he forsaken for all of eternity?_

" _I don't want to be alone any longer…" He whispered to himself as tears continued to trail down his cheeks. "Please… Help me."_

_A shadow suddenly loomed over him before an unexpected warmth wrapped around his body – as if someone had casted a warming charm on him. He tilted his head upwards, not minding how the rain made his eyes sting, and gasped in shock._

_Wide disbelieved scarlet met narrowed suspicious crimson before everything turned black._

* * *

"Climb aboard."

Marcaunon was startled awake from his slumber by the car door shutting close and sighed tiredly. That was a terrible nightmare. He bit his lower lip nervously and hugged himself tightly. He wanted to see Chaos. He wanted to see Death. He wanted to see… Who was it he wanted to see…? There was only Chaos and Death in his life, nobody else.

He closed his eyes forcefully. It was just a dream, nothing more. Just a bloody dream. He wasn't in that ruined world where he was destined to be alone for all of eternity.

"Are you ok?" A male's voice he didn't recognized made his eyelids flutter open.

"Who?" He whispered groggily.

"Lloyd Jefferson Wayne. You can call me LJ. What 'boutchu, babe?"

He blinked owlishly and stared at the man that was seated beside him in the car. LJ wore a brown trilby on his head, and the black man had facial hair –though it was trimmed. He had a brown leather jacket on, and underneath it was a black shirt–

His observation was cut short when his mind connected the words that LJ had uttered.

"Did you just call me a girl?" He heard the two women at the front seats hide their laughter – unsuccessfully he might add.

"… You're a tranny?"

"Who… the bloody hell… are you calling a tranny!?" Marcaunon took out his desert eagle and pointed it below the black man's belt. "I'm 100% male."

LJ raised both his arms in the universal sign of surrender as he sweated buckets.

"A-alright. Chill dude."

"I  _will_  chill after I blow off your unneeded peni–"

"Woah woah woah woah woah man! Let's not go down there." LJ was quick to panic as he covered his manhood.

"I'm sure he's sorry, Harry." Terri said as she giggled behind her hand.

"Yeah! I'm seriously sorry! Don't shoot my junior dude!"

Marcaunon narrowed his eyes at LJ for a few more seconds before he pushed the safety back in place.

"Really! Y-you just looked cute when you were sleeping so I thought –"

"Care to repeat those words?" His thumb grazed the gun's safety threateningly.

"N-nothing at all! Won't happen again. Mhm!"

"See that it doesn't." He cocked his handgun. "Or else…"

LJ scooted away from him and coughed in his fist.

"We got off to a bad start. What's yo name?"

"Harry."

"Well I'm–"

"Lloyd Jefferson Wayne. I got it the first time." Marcaunon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against his seat as he crossed his ankles.

"Err… Yeah…" LJ ran a hand through his short curly hair, his trilby on his lap. "So where ya'll going?"

"Raccoon Middle High.[2]" Jill answered as she turned the car and nonchalantly ran over an infected that was sitting on the road and minding its own business. "We plan on searching the school for a girl. Angela."

"And bring her back to her father." Terri added.

"He'll provide us a way out of the city before Umbrella decided to drop a bomb on us." He murmured as he stretched his arms over his head.

"Wait wait wait wait wait. Hold up! Umbrella's dropping a bomb on us!?" LJ sounded panicked as his arms flailed around randomly.

"And we need to meet up with Alice." Marcaunon continued as if LJ had not interrupted him.

LJ was a very amusing man, and Marcaunon dubbed him as the comedy relief. The man has an easy going and funny personality, and he made Marcaunon amused more often than not (when he didn't mistake Marcaunon for a female). Especially the man's reactions.

Jill had explained to LJ about Dr. Ashford, Alice, and the bomb.

"So we all needa get our asses out of Raccoon before sunrise?"

"That's right."

"Damn…"

"You can say that again." Terri murmured whilst Marcaunon's lips quirked.

"We're here." Jill announced.

As they all left the car, Marcaunon took a glance at the police K9 vehicle and frowned lightly –were those able to get infected as well?

"I wonder if this place will be crawling with those." Marcaunon tilted his head to the side as his eyes glinted with interest.

"Everyone's armed?" Jill asked as she pulled out her firearm.

"Got my custom beauties here." LJ said as he showed off his golden handguns.

"I'm armed." Marcaunon smirked as he fingered his desert eagle.

"I don't know how to…" Terri was interrupted by Jill as she all but shoved a pistol towards the weather woman.

"You'll need it."

Terri only nodded nervously and they all entered the school. Jill was positioned at the front, since she was the one holding the flashlight –and that she had experience in combat unlike the other two, whilst Terri and LJ were side by side in the middle.

Marcaunon himself was told to watch their rear by Jill.

"Judging by the way you fought at the graveyard previously, I would say that you've had at least a decent amount of experience." Was said.

He only smiled at her belittling tone whilst LJ looked at them with confusion.

"Were you both datin' once?" LJ whispered to Marcaunon, but before he could reply, LJ continued. "Who am I kiddin? You're girly and look no older than nineteen!"

A tic formed on his forehead and he resisted the urge to throttle LJ. He was not girly!

"We both have different opinions is all."

"Hmm… Really? It seemed to me that it's all sexual tension yo."

Jill was the one who smacked LJ and threatened to castrate him if he were to continue being noisy. LJ paled and protected his manhood by covering it with his hands, much to Marcaunon amusement. The man's manhood was already threatened twice within the hour.

They continued walking until they stopped in front of a stairway, and Jill turned to them.

"We're going to have to split up if we want to search the whole building."

"Forget it." Terri spoke immediately. "I'm not going out there by myself! Forget it!"

"I could go witchu." LJ tried to calm her.

"You, take the first floor." She told LJ. "And you, take the second." She stared at Terri.

"Wouldn't it be inconvenient for us to split up?" Marcaunon stated monotonously. The three only stared at him with confusion. "There is no doubt that splitting up would cover more ground–"

"Then what's the problem?" Jill rudely interrupted.

"The problem, dear Jill, is that if we did split up and find the girl shortly after, won't we waste more time looking for everybody else after that?"

"I'll take the basement." Jill stated after a minute of silence. Marcaunon deadpanned. She was definitely still angry at him –but for her to ignore his rationale reasoning and endanger everybody else wasn't like her. "You'll go to the library and other such places –like the roof."

"No wait." Terri spoke suddenly. "Why not let Harry accompany me? I really don't know how to handle a gun…"

"There's nothing to it. Just try and hit them in the head." Jill was merciless as she stared Terri into submission. Marcaunon wasn't sure whether six bullets were enough for Terri –Jill did not even give her magazines.

They soon split up, however Marcaunon didn't move from his position. He only closed his eyes to sense if there were any other living beings apart from them that were in this building, and only when he felt them did he open his eyes.

He counted three in total. One was at the first floor, another at the second, and the last was near his location. He hummed in thought at there being two extra presences before he nodded to himself. The other two might be children that had survived by hiding inside a locket or something. He should go check if the one closest to him was Angela or a survivor.

After a few more minutes of non-stop walking, he frowned at the presence –they kept moving further and further away from him. He sighed and continued to follow, which lead him back to the entrance.

The person was going around in circles! Were they lost or something!?

Terri's presence suddenly vanished from his radar and he raised a brow. She died within ten minutes of being here. What a weakling. He focused on her soul and tugged on it via Magic. The blackened orb that used to be Terri answered his call and hovered in front of him. He ripped his pocket dimension open with his index finger, before pulling out an empty jar that Death had provided him with for this very purpose. He did the same to Terri's orb as he did to Peyton, before dropping it inside his sling bag once more.

He heard some screaming coming from the cafeteria just as the presence he had been following after for the past ten minutes vanished. He sighed in frustration and called for that soul as well. He repeated the process yet again with an irritated scowl on his once upon a time serene face.

He now focused on Jill's presence this time and trailed after her –she had another unfamiliar presence with her. Perhaps it was Angela.

… He ended up in front of the cafeteria doors again. He rubbed circles on his temples in irritation. He had passed this place thrice now. He pushed the cafeteria doors opened more roughly than intended with a handgun in hand, expecting something to spring at him at any moment.

When nothing came, he continued to walk forward before his elbow was grabbed.

Marcaunon twisted around and had his hands around the zombie's neck, ready to break it, but stopped when he noticed that it was only Alice.

"Oh." He blinked owlish.

"Oh, is the right word for this situation." His companion murmured as she battered his hands away.

"Well… Sorry about that."

"Not a problem."

"You're wounded."

She looked at the cut on her arm and sighed.

"Not by them."

He nodded indifferently as she took out a cigarette and started to inhale those cancerous fumes.

"Any reason why you're taking a smoke break when we're supposed to be searching for the girl?"

"You'll know soon enough." She replied mysteriously as she took another drag.

Marcaunon only raised a brow and sat atop one of the many tables. Alice and her dramatics were endearing as well as amusing.

"Do you perhaps have any coins?" Alice stared at him with curiosity. "I need them to buy snacks from that vending machine over there." He pointed at the snack machine next to the CocaCola one.

"… Why don't you just break the glass?"

Marcaunon eyes widened. He knew that Terri's stupidity was contagious! Alice suddenly chuckled at his forgetfulness and it made Marcaunon scowl all the more. Just as he was about to head over to the vending machine, the swinging double doors that lead to the kitchen burst open.

Jill came running as if hell hounds were behind her heels, and stared at them with shock before she quickly ran to them with a little girl trailing behind her.

"You better take cover, Harry." Was whispered to him by Alice as she flicked her cigarette.

He was confused. Why would he need to take cover?

Just as he was about to ask, two infected dogs came crashing through the doors behind Jill. When Marcaunon's heightened senses smelled burnable fumes coming from the direction of the kitchen, his reflexes took over –he needed to find cover before Alice's cigarette made the kitchen go boom. He pushed down the table that he was once sitting on and took shelter behind it, just as the kitchen combusted with Jill landing beside him.

After the explosion died down, he took a peek from behind the overturned table before scowling at Alice.

"A quicker warning would've done wonders for my still too fast beating heart, Alice."

"You reacted quickly enough didn't you?" She smirked as she dropped the fireproof silver  _blanket_  around her and the girl.

Her answer made him give her an amused quirk of his lips as he stepped closer to the two. Jill on the other hand only coughed and stood on shaky legs.

"Was there a gas leak in the kitchen?" How she knew about it when he himself (who could smell a cockroach from meters away) didn't notice a thing was weird.

"There wasn't any." Jill answered as she brushed debris off her mini skirt. "I turned the gas stoves on before we ran out."

He looked questionably at Alice, but she only stared back stoically.

"Thank you." A high pitched girl's voice made the three adults turned to Angela –or who he assumed to be Angela anyway.

The girl had wavy mid length chestnut colored hair, with blue eyes and freckles scattered over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. She wore her school uniform, a dark blue blazer with a matching tie over her light blue shirt, and a blue and black plaid skirt.

Marcaunon tilted his head to the side as he observed her interactions with Alice.

"She's infected." Alice suddenly pointed out as she turned towards Jill and him. "She's infected on a massive level."

"You're infected as well aren't you?" Marcaunon stated matter of factly whilst he stood in front of the vending machine.

Alice snapped her head towards him in shock, whilst Jill glared at Alice.

"How di–"

"You're infected?" Jill cut in with disbelief and rage. "When were you going to tell us!? And you… Why didn't you tell us she was infected!? When did you notice? Is this all a sick game to you?"

He shot at the glass of the vending machine and grabbed a few snacks and chocolates, before he turned to face Jill who was looking at him with distrust. He replied only after he dropped the snacks into his bag.

"She felt similar, yet vastly different. To those infected." He answered as he ripped a packet of twisties open. "And when she said that they did something to her, I had my suspicions."

"And then? Why didn't you tell us?"

"You didn't ask."

"How can I ask if I didn't know!?"

"Hmm… I'm not sure really." He shrugged and looked at his hands. "Does anybody have any hand sanitizer?"

"Who the fuck would have any in this kind of situation!? And stop avoiding the question!"

Marcaunon ignored Jill. He wasn't really avoiding the question, his snacks just hold a higher priority than her.

"It's the Anti-Virus… The cure for the T-Virus." Their one sided argument was cut short when he heard those shocking words from Alice.

He swirled around and strode towards where Alice was seated with a metallic box on her lap. Within the box was a vial that had swirls of green liquid inside. He stared at it intensely.

"There's a cure?" Jill asked.

"How did you get this?" Alice questioned the little girl.

The answer was obvious to Marcaunon. It was her father. He was the creator of the T-Virus. What Marcaunon didn't know was that there existed the Anti-Virus as well. Didn't Death say that the world was already on its way to exploding because zombies kept on multiplying? It made little sense to him. If there was already an Anti-Virus, why have they not yet released it? Were Umbrella hoarding it for themselves?

As the three females were staring at one another intensely, he stood behind Alice.

"My daddy. He made it for me. He's sick… and one day, I'll get sick too. He just wanted to stop that." She looked at the two women with sadness. "When I was little, I had to walk on crutches. They said that I'll never get better, just worse."

Marcaunon moved away from them and settled down on one of the nearby tables, sitting Indian style with a piece of twisties in hand (he was forced to use Magic to sanitized his appendages unfortunately, it was a crisis of magnitude level).

"He found a way to make me strong."

"The T-Virus…" Alice whispered.

There was a few seconds of silence with only his munching heard.

"Then,  _they_  took the invention away from him. He's not a bad man. He didn't mean for any of this."

Tell that to Death and Its Master, little girl. His desk was filled with stacks of paperwork thanks to her father's invention. Once he got his hands on that bloody Ashford… Marcaunon's eyes bled crimson.

Alice pulled Angela into a hug as if to comfort her, and Marcaunon heard the girl sob. If only his paperwork could be solved by merely crying –Death wasn't as merciful as many people thought It to be.

The door that was linked to the hallway was suddenly kicked open, before a man with a semi-automatic rifle walked in. Alice was quick to whip out her shotgun to point at the stranger, though the man returned the favor by aiming his rifle to her chest.

LJ's appearance made Marcaunon raise a brow. What timing.

"Don't shoot. It's cool. He made a deal with the Doctor too. Same witchu."

The two lowered their weapons after a few seconds of assessing the situation.

"How many of you guys are there?" Jill questioned suddenly.

"Why do you ask?" The stranger replied with a confused expression.

Marcaunon stared at the stranger from his seat silently, not bothered with attracting attention to himself –people find it creepy when he stared at them for too long.

The man had short black hair, dark eyes, and facial hair. He wore a black shirt with the Umbrella Corporation logo underneath his bullet proof vest, and dark cargo pants that had the hems tucked neatly inside his boots. There was a holster strapped around his right thigh, and he wore fingerless gloves for better weapon grip.

Jill looked towards the direction of a male's corpse (with the same uniform as the stranger) whilst the others followed her gaze.

"Nicholai…" The man whispered his colleague's name sadly.

There was a moment of silence before the man started coughing out blood.

"When were you bitten?" Alice asked seriously with a slight frown on her face.

"Three hours ago."

"W-what the…" LJ ran a hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself. "You mean to tell me that I was walking around with someone who could turn into those things at any moment!?"

"Well. It's your lucky day." Alice said with a slight smirk.

"Indeed it is."

The stranger swirled around and pointed his rifle at Marcaunon.

"… I didn't see you there." He apologized as he lowered his weapon.

"He's a sneaky bastard." Jill murmured as she walked passed him and towards the hallway. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"What she said." Marcaunon hopped off the table he was seated on and walked behind Jill, twisties still in hand. "We don't want all the mini-zombies to appear. With all the noise we made it's a wonder they have yet to investigate."

That made the mortals hastened their steps and Marcaunon chuckled, amused that they had forgotten that this school was infested with infected school children.

_OOOO_

"So what exactly are you injecting me with again?" Carlos, as he had introduced himself as, asked Alice doubtfully as he observed her wiping a section of his arm with alcohol swipe –it was found within the metallic box.

"The Anti-Virus obviously." Marcaunon answered for her.

They were currently inside the car that Jill had hotwired previously. After they had gotten out of the school without any encounter from the dead, the Doctor had called them through a payphone and gave them the location for an already prepared helicopter. Jill had complained about how sick the Doctor was to be observing them via surveillance cameras all around the city, but stopped when Angela looked ready to cry. Marcaunon had called her a softie and almost got a bullet through his head thanks to that.

He now was currently seated in the middle of the back seat of the car, with Alice on his right and Carlos on his left –his arm was on Marcaunon's lap. Jill was driving as usual, and LJ was seated on the passenger seat beside of her. Angela on the other hand was seated on LJ's lap, since the car was only a five seater.

"Are they really safe?"

"Angela's been injecting herself with those for who knows how long." Marcaunon calmly stated as he picked at his nails in boredom. "I'm sure it won't be that painful."

"I'm not worried about the pain but – ow!" Carlos winced as Alice injected his arm. "A little warning next time."

"You wish to be bitten yet again?" Marcaunon asked, his eyes shining with mirth. "You must really be a masochist, or someone with a bite fetish."

"That's not what I meant! And you know it Harry."

He only laughed at Carlos, who was blushing madly.

"The T-Virus reanimates dead cells." Alice began as she closed the lid of the metallic box that contained the Anti-Virus. "Basically, bringing the dead alive. On a living human, it can cause incontrollable mutation, or it can help her walk again –if the virus is kept in check."

"With this." She brought up the Anti-Virus to eye level and the two stared at the vial of Anti-Virus.

"Though in the wrong hands, this happens." Marcaunon said without remorse as Angela turned to him. "He shouldn't have made it at all. Dr. Ashford basically killed millions of people just because he wanted to save  _one_  little girl." And brought forth millions of Deathfiles onto his desk.

"It wasn't his fault!" Angela shouted with tears in her eyes.

He would've felt something if Chaos was the one crying (which was impossible in itself), but since Angela was not his son, he ignored her tears.

"It is and you know it." Marcaunon suddenly gave her a mockingly kind smile. "Think about it. All your friends were infected… by the very same  _medication_  that you took on a daily basis. Wasn't it both your and your  _daddy's_  fault?"

"N-no…"

"That's enough antagonizing from you, Harry!" Jill said as she glared at him through the rear view mirror.

"Don't pretend that you don't blame them as well, Jill." Marcaunon drawled. "Peyton died because of–"

"I know alright!" Jill's knuckles were paper white as her grip on the wheel tightened. "But it wasn't their intention for this to happen. Nobody could possibly have known that the T-Virus could bring the dead back to life. Or the fact that it was contagious."

"Didn't you listen to what Alice had said, Jill? T-Virus basically reanimates the dead cells. Corpses are full of dead cells –of course they can be brought back to  _life_." Marcaunon scoffed. "Really, for a genius, Dr. Ashford should've taken this into precaution."

"You don't have any friends do you, Harry?" Marcaunon only stared blankly at Jill when she asked such an unexpectedly random question. "You have a horrid personality. Nobody, even I, would even want to be near you if not for this situation."

The ride was silent for a minute before Jill laughed cruelly.

"So I was right."

"You are." Her smiled vanished instantly as Marcaunon grinned dementedly. "I do not need or require such weaknesses. I alone am enough for myself." It was true, however he also has Death and Chaos. Oh not to forget the two serpents, Suki and Mana.

"Isn't that lonely?" Angela asked with pity in her eyes.

"No. It's my preferred way of living." Marcaunon suddenly smiled. "I'm the type of adult you should never hope to be."

"You're only a teenager." LJ suddenly spoke.

Marcaunon chuckled, his eyes glinting with mirth.

"I'm actually 23 this year."

"What!? Damn that's some genes you've inherited." The tensed atmosphere was broken thanks to LJ as Marcaunon continued to chuckle at the man's imitation of a fish out of water.

"Many made the same expression as you once I tell them my age."

The ride continued with a light air.

"Alice," Carlos suddenly spoke. "Does that mean that Angie's infected?"

"Yes. The virus is enough to regenerate her dead cells, but not enough to cause further mutation."

"And they infected you with the T-Virus as well?"

Alice stared at Carlos for a few seconds longer before she nodded slightly.

"Yeah. But don't worry, I'm not contagious."

Marcaunon was inwardly laughing. The way she said it… It was like telling her boyfriend that she had STI but wasn't contagious if he wore a condom. (A/N: which wasn't true so don't have sex with someone that have STI please).

"Here" Jill spoke as she tossed Terri's digital camera to Alice. "Tape the story. See if it gets put to good use."

"It probably won't work, but do it if you're an optimist. I usually think my cup of water is half empty rather than half full." Marcaunon murmured under his breath.

"My name is Alice. I work for the Umbrella Corporation. I was head of security, at a secret high-tech facility called The Hive –a giant underground laboratory developing experimental viral bio weaponry."

_OOOO_

They arrived at the location where Dr. Ashford said that there would be a helicopter being held at. Marcaunon and co. stalked quietly from pillar to pillar, taking down guard after guard on their way to the helicopter. The tall building made a good fortress for the copter, and it was further away from the infected that were roaming the streets that used to be busy.

Alice had gone on ahead to clear the snipers, and when Marcaunon volunteered to do that as well, his idea was shot down by Jill –she didn't trust him.

"Really… Our goals are similar. Why would I purposely let them shoot you?"

"You did exactly that when we were at the church."

"I already apologized to the corpse didn't I?"

"Then will you apologize to mine if I were to get shot because of your easy going attitude?"

"Of course." He stated monotonously as he watched Carlos kill yet another guard.

Jill sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"Just… Just follow the plan."

When they spotted Alice standing by the helicopter in the middle of an open parking lot, the group jogged towards her whilst Marcaunon himself blended into the shadows. He had a feeling that something was wrong –it was way too easy. His group didn't notice that he wasn't with them as they boarded the helicopter, so he climbed atop one of the fieldlights –why they were even here he didn't know– and sat Indian style.

Many don't usually look upwards when they were focused on something, so he was relatively safe for now.

His intuition was spot on when he saw Timothy Cain tiptoeing into the helicopter with a gun in hand. Whilst that guy was doing who knows what in there with his group, the Umbrella guards that Cain brought with him surrounded the helicopter, their weapons raised just in case. He waited for the people inside the helicopter to exit that metal contraption and snorted when he saw his group in a bind –literally.

Alice was standing in front of Cain, who had his arms around Angela and a gun to her temple. The other members of his group however, were kneeling in front of the helicopter with their bounded hands behind their back.

Marcaunon's eyes roamed the area before stopping on a wheelchaired-bound man. Charles Ashford, just the man he was looking for.

Now that he had found the scientist… Marcaunon licked his upper lip.

Dr. Charles Ashford, the creator of the T-Virus and one responsible for his overload of paperwork. He was a very valuable asset to the Umbrella Corporation, so Marcaunon wasn't worried about the man's life being in danger for now.

Ashford's aura of death was dark, but not yet dark enough for him to expire within the hour.

The man was in his late 30s, with a large forehead and a circular framed spectacle –which was awfully similar to the ones Harry Potter used to wear, perched on the bridge his nose. His dimple chin could be considered his best feature, seeing that his chestnut colored hair was already in the process of thinning.

He wore a light green shirt underneath his dark green sweater, dark trousers, and had a laptop built in on his wheelchair.

Marcaunon observed how the man's lips parted and moved, before Cain pushed Angela towards the wheelchaired-bound man. They hugged and he felt a twinge in his heart. How he wished Chaos was here with him and in his arms.

Maybe after Chaos was old enough, he would invite his son to travel along with him.

Marcaunon suddenly snapped his head downwards as he felt malicious intent and rage coming from below of him. There, a few meters from his seat, was a really hideous creature that exceeded the brainy four legged creature thingy.

He really didn't know how to describe that thing other than repulsive. It was like plastic surgery gone wrong to the extreme. The creature was humanoid, wearing a black knee length leather coat, with blue strappings on the right side, and black pants of the same material. It wore fingerless gloves on its hands, and had a machine gun strapped around its right arm.

What it wore wasn't what made Marcaunon declared its ugliness, but rather its overall appearance. The creature had purple tube like things burrowed in its neck area, though half of the unknown tube thing was out. Its skin was brown and looked oily. The creature was bald with metallic stitches running from its right cheek to across its no–… It doesn't have a nose.

Well… As he had previously stated before, it was hard to describe the creature's features.

He just blinked owlish before returning his scarlet eyes to observe the people. The creature wasn't his concern, unless it decided to go on a rampage and kill Dr. Ashford. He was this close to getting the cure. He just needed to steal Ashford for a few minutes to mind rape the scientist before giving the man back to Umbrella –disregarding the fact that Ashford would've likely turned out to be nothing but a drooling mess afterwards.

The area was suddenly lit up by hundreds of field lights (he almost fell down in surprise) and the creature dropped its weapon. Marcaunon only tilted his head in confusion as Cain began to talk to Alice.

She kept shaking her head with a glare on her face. He wondered what was being said… Hopefully it would be over soon. He sighed and yawned–

…

No…

Why in the name of Merlin's hairy testicles did Cain shoot Ashford!? Wasn't the scientist supposed to be indispensable to Umbrella!? That was the fucking creator of the T-Virus for Merlin's sake!

It was time for him to intervene.

Marcaunon's eyes glinted crimson as he stealthily jumped off his seat and maneuvered towards the shadows. He stalked towards the fallen body of Charles Ashford and without even a sound, he covered Angela's mouth (she was hugging her father tightly) with his hand before pulling both her and her father back into the shadows.

The people were all too busy watching Alice and the creature fighting a death match to notice the two that had vanished from under their noses.

_OOOO_

He dropped them carelessly once they were inside one of the many entrances in the building near their previous location.

"H-harry…" Angela cried as tears leaked down her face. "My daddy… Please... please help my daddy!"

"Why?" He asked with a tilt of his head.

"You dragged us here to save him didn't you? To help him, didn't you, Harry?" She looked at him with hope filled innocent eyes.

"It seems like you're misunderstanding something, little girl." He said flatly as he stared at Angela with cruel and unforgiving eyes. "I only dragged you along because you would've noticed me once I touched your daddy."

"Then why?"

"I have business with him is all, and you were in the way." He aimed his desert eagle at Angela's forehead. "I am not so cruel to leave a defenseless little girl in a place full of flesh eating dead humans. I'll be sure to send your daddy after you once I'm done with him."

Angela only looked into his eyes as tears continued to roll down her cheeks.

"Don't think badly of me, Angela." He smiled softly at the girl. "It's all for the sake of lesser paperwork after all."

Without even giving her time to say her last words, he shot her in the head. At least she died painlessly. He grabbed her soul and plunged it into an empty jar, before he turned to Charles Ashford.

He pried one of the scientist's eyes opened and just as he was about to dive into the man's mind, a helicopter begun shooting at the building he was inside and a few bullet lodged themselves into his and Ashford's body. Marcaunon's eyes widened as he coughed out a mouthful of blood.

"F-fuck…" Marcaunon's eyes hardened in determination and he extended his arm towards the scientist with healing Magic already being activated, but it was all for naught. The man was already dead.

He sneered and growled in rage. Why? Only a second. He required only another second!

"Wait a minute…" He blinked and pushed himself off the ground. "There's still a way…"

Marcaunon stood up and begun chanting, his scarlet eyes glowing with power as the spell started to form. He was the Master of Death, and thus, he was able resurrect a person (and not mindless inferi) if their souls have yet to–

The black shroud suddenly wrapped itself around the soul orb of Charles Ashford, and hovered innocently in front of his face –as if mocking him.

His face blanked. His luck sure was amazing.

"Morgana's saggy titties…" He rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. Why didn't he just use Magic to apparate the two Ashfords to somewhere without the risk of bullets in the air?

He brought forth his Magic to pull out the bullets that had lodged themselves deeply into his body and healed the wounds a second after those shells were out. He wiped his bloodied chin and made his way outside, where the corpses of guards were littered everywhere.

He ran to the helicopter that was in the process of lifting off, and jumped inside. The occupants startled and pointed their guns at him, but he ignored them in favor of observing Alice, who had a head injury and perhaps a concussion, holding Cain by the collar as if ready to drop him below –where a horde of infected were currently walking towards them.

"Will you give me a minute with Cain before you drop him?" Marcaunon questioned Alice, his crimson eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare –as if daring her to say no.

He could see her shuddering at his expression, but he didn't care. It was Cain's fault that Ashford died, and he needed information that was undoubtedly inside that head of his. Without waiting for her to reply, he pushed her gently aside and grabbed the man's chin roughly.

"Look at me." He demanded. "Don't think about the Anti-Virus." By telling a person not to think about something, they will undoubtedly think of that very thing.

Just as he was about to dive inside the man's mind, the nuclear bomb exploded and made the helicopter shake terribly. He lost his grip on Cain and the man fell out of the copter.

Marcaunon's eyes widened and he was about to jump after Cain, his Magic already prepared to apparate them away, but he was pulled back by the waist by Carlos.

"What are you doing!? Let go! I need to…!" He clawed the man's arms as he tried to reach uselessly at the falling Cain. "He… The Anti-Virus.. I need…"

"You'll die once you jump off, Harry!" Was shouted inti his ear by Carlos.

That was right. He couldn't risk using Magic in front of them –and his obliviate hadn't been practiced for a long time. What if Cain knew nothing?

He slumped into the man's hold and gritted his teeth in frustration. Everything had gone wrong!

"ALICE!" Jill's panicked filled voice made the two males turn. Alice's torso was pierced by a metal beam, with Jill frantically hovering above her body. "Oh my god… Oh my god! She was protecting me… Oh god!"

"We're going down!" LJ yelled. "Grab something!"

They all did just that. The helicopter span around uncontrollably and it made Marcaunon felt nausea. His arms unconsciously wrapped tighter around the closest thing in his reach (which was Carlos) and he closed his eyes tightly. He preferred flying via Magic rather than this!

After a few more minutes of torture, the copter crash-landed on top of a few boulders that were in the middle of a lake underneath an enormous waterfall.

"Alice! She doesn't have a pulse!" Jill shouted frantically.

Marcaunon opened his eyes and blinked to clear the debris, before releasing his hold on Carlos, whom immediately rushed towards Alice's side. His group tried everything to help Alice, but it was obvious that she was dead in their eyes.

He though… He stared at Alice's body, not corpse, with an intrigued expression. Again, her aura of death was flickering in and out of existence. He had never seen such a phenomenon before, and it was probably due to the T-Virus inside of her body.

"She's dead…" Carlos whispered as he blinked violently and subtly wiped his eyes.

They stayed for another few minutes as he took a look around. They landed somewhere in the mountains, on a rocky lake near a waterfall. The air smelt fresh here, unlike when he was in the city where vehicle fumes and factory gases polluted the air. He spotted a few squirrels scattering around in different directions and heard the beautiful melodies of birds singing –it was quite peaceful if one would ignore the broken helicopter on top of the rocks that was ruining the scenery.

"Well then…" He stood as he brushed some debris off of his bloodied hoodie. "I should get a move on."

"Before that…" Jill's voice cracked at the, which made her clear her throat. "Where were you?"

"Excuse me?" He tilted his head in confusion.

"When we were caught. Where were you?"

"Inside the building."

"… Why were you inside the building?"

"I felt something was off, so I decided to make a tactical retreat."

Jill's eyes burned and she grabbed a hold of his collar.

"And you didn't even bother to inform us!?" His lips parted, but were unable to speak as Jill continued. "Do not… Do not say that we didn't ask you."

His mouth closed with an audible click and he stared blankly at her. What was he supposed to say?

"You wouldn't have believed me anyway. You would've ignored my advice like you did back at the school, remember? When you forced Terri to travel alone? What did that result in? Her death, that's what."

Jill's fist rose as if to punch him, but Carlos grabbed her wrist.

"Harry," He turned to Carlos as he shrugged off Jill's hand. "do you know where Angie went? Even Dr. Ashford's corpse was missing."

"No." They stared at one another before Carlos turned around and started walking away.

"We should get a move on, away from here."

Marcaunon however made no move to follow.

"It was fun whilst it lasted." He waved at them with a slight smirk before darting towards the opposite direction, missing Jill's angry, LJ's exasperated, and Carlos's closed expression.

* * *

_Date: 18 October 2002_  
Location: New York – Above the Statue of Liberty torch  
Dimension: Resident Evil 2 – Apocalypse

He sat on the edge of the Liberty torch with his legs swinging back and forth as he struggled to read the newspaper in his hold – the wind was being a bitch to him and his already astray hair. His scarlet eyes scanned the article as he hummed idly, not caring that a single drop could be the _death_ of him.

" _We have unconfirmed reports of disaster at Raccoon City… These shocking images just in–"_

" _Mysterious plague or viral outbreak seems to have run rampage–"_

" _Umbrella Corporation staging the death of innocent citizens–"_

" _The tape, apparently the work of the former Se7en Raccoon anchorwoman, Terri Morales–"_

He released the newspaper in his hold and watched as it was carried away by the wind, before taking out another set of newspaper. His eyes scanned the articles with mirth as he chuckled at their misfortune.

" _New evidence now, which discredits earlier reports–"_

" _Nothing more than a sick joke–"_

" _Fake video tape not only discriminates–"_

" _Nothing more than an elaborate hoaxed–"_

" _Playing on the very real tragedy which overwhelmed Raccoon City earlier this week–"_

" _Apparently the reactor of the nuclear power station went critical in nearly hours–"_

" _Similar to an Atomic energy disaster–"_

" _State Governor has personally extended his thanks to the Umbrella Corporation for their swift actions–"_

" _The perpetrators of the hoax, Jill Valentine and Carlos Olivera, have now been stopped for questioning by the police–"_

"Master?" Death tilted Its cloaked head curiously as It stood behind Its Master. "Have you completed your self-assigned task yet?"

"I'm halfway done." He took out a vial full of swirling green liquid and fingered the bottle. "I was lucky that they did not pay close attention to the quantity of Anti-Viruses inside that girl's box."

"Mortals have always been inattentive."

"Hmm… Very true." He tossed his bag that was filled with jars to Death, which It caught with one hand.

"Will we be returning, Master?"

"For now we will. It has been three weeks after all. I'm beginning to miss little Chaos." He turned to Death, his scarlet eyes softening. "And you as well."

"I apologize. The horde of souls kept on coming."

"I don't blame you at all, my dear companion." He patted the seat beside him and Death obeyed. It sat down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Marcaunon leaned into Its touch and sighed.

"Not even a second has passed by for Chaos huh?" He murmured and closed his eyes. "We'll return back to this dimension on a later date then, but for now… I'll just have to endure the endless zombie induced paperwork."

"Those on your desk are  _only_  for Raccoon City souls."

"… And soon this whole world's Deathfiles as well."

"It might take years for the T-Virus to spread, Master."

"But time works differently."

"Indeed…"

They stared at the clouds a little longer before a black portal opened below them. Marcaunon tightened his hold onto Death as they fell through.

" _We'll meet again, Alice."_ He transmitted that thought to Alice as the portal closed behind them. [3]

* * *

_Date: 10 October 2002_  
Location: In an abandoned apartment somewhere  
Dimension: Resident Evil 2 – Apocalypse

"What's that in your hand?" Jill asked Carlos as she took another bite from her apple.

"A note." LJ replied for him as he stood behind Carlos.

"A note?" She scooted over to read over his shoulder. Her eyes widened as she whispered. "That bastard… And now he tells us!"

_Umbrella Medical Research Facility Detroit_

_Alice's alive_  
She was taken by them  
Since 28 _th_ _September actually_

_Thought you ought to know,_  
Harry Potter  
P.S. You didn't ask me whether she was still dead or alive back then!

* * *

[1]The explosive yield of a nuclear weapon is the amount of energy discharged when a nuclear weapon is detonated, expressed usually in TNT equivalent either in kilotons (thousands of tons of TNT) or megatons (millions of tons of TNT). 1 kiloton of TNT = 4.184 TJ (terajoules)

[2] I have no idea what Angela's age is or the school's name. So yeah, I'll just estimate that she's around 13 and that it's called Raccoon Middle School…. Gehehehe….?

[3] Angela was supposed to call out Alice via mental thoughts, however since I've killed her, Harry has to take over. It was unintentional, I assure you!

Rainbows and Zombies,  
GenderlessPerson


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15: Picnic and Invitation**

* * *

 

_Date: April 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's study_

He blinked owlishly to clear his vision once he felt Death's hold on him loosened. He took in his surroundings with a small smile playing on his lips and sighed in content. It was great to be home. He had missed the scent of Potion fumes and old tomes mixed together to form a completely unique smell that his mind instantly connected to home within Hogwarts.

"Master?" Death questioned with a tilt of Its head.

"It's feels good to be back home, Death." He touched the walls of Hogwarts lovingly. "Hogwarts Magic is like a mother's embrace to me – though I don't really know how that feels like."

"A dimension that Magic has yet to settle in. Quite uncomfortable and stifling isn't it, Master?"

"Very. Half the time I felt Gaia there trying to vacuum my Magic out of my body." He glared playfully at Death. "You should've given me a prior warning. I could've died instantly have I not formed an impromptu wall around my core."

"Constant vigilance, Master."

"Really Death?"

They both grinned at each other before Death excused himself with a small yet graceful bow. Marcaunon dismissed his servant with a wave of his hand and strode out of his private quarters, intending on finding Chaos.

It had been weeks since he last saw his cute little boy. However for Chaos, it had only been a few minutes – Death's control over time was otherworldly (death was everywhere after all). He wished that he was able to travel back and forth through time as well sometimes. Paperwork would be so much easier if that were the case.

After a few more turns, he stood outside of the school's library, where he felt Chaos's unique Magical signature was. He slipped inside unnoticed and stalked towards where his little boy was encircled around stacks upon stacks of old tomes.

He crouched behind the small form of Marchosias before picking his boy up without any form of warning. Chaos squeaked (which would be later denied) cutely and struggled.

"Let go of me you pedophile!"

"Is that anyway to talk to your papa, Chaos?" He cooed as he turned his son and settled Marchosias on his hip.

His son only deadpanned at him before closing those ruby eyes of his – as if he was praying for patience.

"Yes father?" Chaos sighed resignedly as he rested his cheeks on Marcaunon's shoulder. "Is my presence required for something?"

He chuckled and played with his son's cat onesie tail with a soft look in his eyes.

"I just missed you is all."

"…We parted only a few minute ago. Please reassure me that you're not going senile just yet, old man." Chaos smiled innocently at him, as if he had not just insulted Marcaunon's mentality and age.

"What a cheeky brat you are." He murmured as we walked out of the library with his son still in his hold.

"Where are we going, father?"

"To spend time together of course, my cute wittle Chaos." He poked his boy's chubby cheeks as if to emphasize how young he was, knowing that it would annoy Chaos very much. He knew that Chaos hated being in the body of a six–sorry,  _seven_  year old.

"Stop that!" His hand was swatted away as he was glared by Chaos. Marcaunon almost squealed at how cute this ruby eyed monster was, with the cat onesie and puffed out cheeks. "And when will you remove this… abomination you call clothing from me?"

"Would you rather walk around naked? I have not raised you to be an exhibitionist, Chaos."

"I…I just don't wish to wear such clothing. It's degrading, father."

"It suits you well."

"You're not the one getting cooed at." Was the sulky reply.

He pretended to be oblivious and smiled at his son with a look of total innocence.

When he finally stopped in front a painting of fruits, he tickled the pear with his hand that was not holding Chaos and took a step back as the painting revealed Hogwarts' kitchen. In his eyes, the kitchen was larger than the entire house the Weasley family lived in for generations. The kitchen has four long and wide wooden tables that were low enough for the house-elves to reach without difficulty, and shelves containing a large amount of dishware. In the far end and middle of the kitchen was a wide fireplace to keep the elves warm and to boil a large cauldron of soup at. The oven was beside the fireplace, and he could smell treacle tarts being baked inside. The scent alone was enough to make him drool.

"There's still an hour to go before lunch." Chaos's high pitched voice made him snap out of his daydream of eating a giant treacle tart and he swallowed his saliva that was accumulated in his mouth.

Hogwarts' house-elves made the most mouthwatering treacle tarts ever in existence. One of the many reasons why he wanted to be a Professor.

"We're going on a picnic, Chaos dear." He maneuvered Chaos so that his boy was standing on the floor and walked to one of the house-elves.

It (house-elves were hard to distinguish by appearance alone) squeaked in excitement when he was in view and rushed towards him happily, not minding that It was carrying a turkey that was almost as big as It was.

"Master Professor Gaunt sir! Is Master Professor Gaunt sir bes hungry? Shall Sloopy bes making food for Master Professor Gaunt sir?"

He patted the elf's head with a fond smile – they were very endearing creatures, and he had liked them ever since he was a student here in both his lives. Marcaunon was unlike many other Magicals that took house-elves for granted. Magicals tend to forget that house-elves can bypass any sort of wards other than anti-elves ward – which wasn't popular because they thought elves to be dumb. If these creatures could live without being bonded to any Magicals, Marcaunon knew that they would be an army more powerful than any other – their Magic was unique and quite strong if wielded correctly.

"I'm planning on having a picnic with my son. Is it alright if I took a few minutes of your time to prepare a lunch basket for me?"

"Not all Master Professor Gaunt sir! Sloopy bes doing that now!" The elf ran towards one of the long tables and gently set the turkey down before It popped away. He assumed Sloopy had gone to take a picnic basket from who knows where.

The other house-elves soon started to greet both his son and him as they passed by. Chaos only observed as Marcaunon conversed with each house-elf that had stopped by to chat animatedly with him, before they resumed what they were doing – they had to prepare lunch for hungry students after all.

Sloopy soon came back with a wooden rectangular picnic basket that was half as big as It was, and handed it to Marcaunon. The elf waved at them both as they walked out of the kitchen, Chaos's in his right hand whilst the basket in his left.

"The Black Lake, father?"

"Yess."

The walk there was silent with both of them enjoying each other's company. They both soon stopped at a spot under a large tree near the lake – they cared not if the giant squid or merpoeple came to observe them.

He used Magic to set up an emerald green picnic mat, followed by two dark zabuton (or sitting pillow). Chaos plopped gracefully down onto his respective zabuton whilst Marcaunon followed his example before taking out food after food from the basket.

Sloopy had prepared for them wraps, sandwiches, hotdogs, hamburgers, fruit and vegetable salads, pies, macaroons (mainly for him), treacle tarts and all sorts of fruit juices. It was more than they could ever consume, but Marcaunon would be giving the extras to those inhabitants in the lake so it was all good. His childhood made him unable to waste food – and he assumed that it was the same for Chaos as well.

He used Magic to clean both his son and his hands before they started munching on their choice of food.

"How has school been treating you, Chaos dear?" He, as usual, started the conversation as he bit into one of the many wraps, oh turkey. He hummed at the explosive flavors and gave a mental thumbs up. Hogwarts elves were so gifted in cooking. Maybe it was one of their requirements.

"It's full of Muggles, mother." They both traded looks of disgust – both knowing that they share a wide range of mutual dislikes and were not afraid to show it when in private. "Though two of my classmates have caught my eyes."

He raised a brow at that.

"Did you forge–" His son cut himself off and Marcaunon only blinked in confusion. "Severus Snape and Lily Evans, Half-blood and Mudblood respectively."

"Ah." He thought back to how he lost control and shook his head lightly. It was a mistake he would not likely to repeat, and he was curious as to why Chaos had yet to kill Snape yet – adult Snape did betray Voldemort after all. "I remember. What's so interesting about the two though? Are they Slytherin material?"

"One of them. Evans is a Gryffindor, and even after many attempts of trying to corrupt her, she still has the heart of a Lion, or Lioness in her case."

"Corrupt? Really Chaos?" He looked at his son with amusement. He doubted that the stubborn woman he had heard much about would be corrupted that easily, even as a young girl.

Chaos only shrugged as he stabbed a strawberry with the fork Marcaunon had conjured for him.

"They have potential. Both of them."

"Why do you say so?"

"Severus's–"

"It's rare for you to be on first name basis with someone."

"–mother is a Potions' Mistress. He's inspiring to be a Potions' Master, and I had decided to test him. He learns fast, in both theory and practical." Chaos continued as if he had not been interrupted.

Marcaunon pouted before he tilted his head to the side.

"So that solves the case of my missing ingredients."

"I was only borrowing it."

"You can only use the word 'borrow' if you're intending on returning what you  _borrowed_ , Chaos dear."

"I don't want to hear that from someone who borrows Sprout's plants on a daily basis."

"Ah, but I had no intention of returning them."

"… No other parent would tell their child that."

"I'm one of a kind." He winked at Chaos and smiled when his little boy rolled those beautiful ruby orbs.

They continued their idle chatter, going from one topic to another without difficulty. Their topic ranged from school, to the weather, and even to Albus's beard. Half an hour had passed by, and some merpeople had surfaced to observe them – he had given those merpeople some food, which they took without any suspicion. He used to have picnics here with the Hufflepuffs (it was one of their traditions), and the creatures were always trusting of Hufflepuffs – who wasn't?

" _ **Marcster!"**_ Suki's hisses made the two Gaunts turned to the serpent, which was slithering towards them with two envelopes in his jaws.

" _ **Suki."**_  They both greeted in unison. The snake that was wrapped around Chaos's shoulders on the other hand, slithered down his son's body to greet her fellow serpent.

Suki dropped the envelopes on his lap before his familiar's head butted with Mana's. Marcaunon had trained his familiar to bring him any mail that were unopened and had no Magic on them – snakes were so much better than slobbery dogs.

" _ **Thank you, Suki."**_  He trailed a finger down Suki's back, which made the serpent hiss in pleasure.

He turned one of the envelopes and raised a brow when he saw who the sender was.

"Someone you know?"

"My guild master." He murmured as he broke the waxed seal and took out two folded parchments from within the envelope. He set aside the blank one and read the other.

_Dear Mr. Ignatius Rose,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as one of the ten Potions' Masters out of a hundred, for a chance to gain a challenging position of employment. Your potions documentation shows that you have an excellent track record and achievements that are to be commended for one young such as yourself._

_Please find enclosed a blank parchment that would be containing the invitation to the job, along with the time and place of meeting, once a pulse of Magic is to be placed. We await your acceptance no later than April 25_ _th_ _._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Jellal F. Frost_  
~Signature~  
Cauldron Fever Guild Master

He hummed in thought. It sounded interesting enough and he was curious about the  _challenging position_. He knew that his alias was considered one, if not,  _the_  top Potions' Master due to all the creations he had presented the Magical community with – and it wasn't only the Wolfsbane that made him well known.

He mentally debated with himself for a few minutes, with Chaos giving him privacy by conversing with the serpents (such a good kid!), before he decided to see the other letter first. He set the parchment aside and took the second envelope, which made him raise both his brows in surprise – it was from the same sender. He broke the seal and took out two parchments, one blank and another with words.

_Dear Mr. Marcaunon Gaunt,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as one of the ten Potions' Masters out of a hundred, for a chance to gain a challenging position of employment. Your potions documentation shows that you have an excellent track record and achievements that are to be commended for one young such as yourself._

_Please find enclosed a blank parchment that would be containing the invitation to the job, along with the time and place of meeting, once a pulse of Magic is to be placed. We await your acceptance no later than April 25_ _th_ _._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Jellal F. Frost_  
~Signature~  
Cauldron Fever Guild Master

 _P.S. I know that you already have a job, and that you informed me of your wish to remain anonymous, however this offer is to the top ten in our guild. The client would only see your name_ after _you've accepted, so please do not send a howler to my office because Merlin your voice could shatter even the thickest of glass._

He blinked at the post script and burnt the parchment with his Magic. He did the same to the blank one, before he returned to the one addressed to Ignatius Rose.

"Mother?"

"Just a letter from my silly guild master is all. No worries."

"And may I know of its contents?"

Marcaunon lifted his eyes towards his son and thought for a few seconds before he nodded.

"Yess. It's a job offer. Not much information unless I accept."

"Which you will." Was stated with a drawl.

"I will." It looked far too interesting to ignore.

"Mother is too predictable."

"Only to you, love. Only you." He smiled at his boy and pushed a small amount of his Magic into the blank parchment. It glowed for a second before words appeared.

_INVITATION_

_Ignatius Rose_

_Friday  
1_ _st_ _May_  
1230 – 1400  
Portkey Time: 1219

_Please present this strictly personal invitation at the door._

"Tell me about it afterwards?"

"You know I will." They both retrieve their respective familiars before Marcaunon banished the mat and empty basket to who knows where banished items go to.

Once the serpents were safely wrapped around their shoulders like a scarf, they headed back to the castle. He had to talk to Albus about his future off day, and Chaos would likely wish to continue with his reading.

* * *

_Date: 01 May 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's bathroom_

Marcaunon hummed as he brushed his now platinum blonde eyebrows and concave hair, with the front tips reaching his collarbone and his nape bared. He moved his fringe to one side and traced his eyes with liquid eyeliner, making his scarlet iris appeared more vibrant than before – he hadn't applied much, only the simple and natural style.

Ignatius Rose was an albino Potions' Master to others – red eyes were easier to hide that way without being accused of playing with the darkest of the Dark Arts. After his first trip to the Ministry, he had berated himself for appearing as he usually was, and had asked Death to alter the minds of those who had met him without his disguise on.

He turned his head left to right and nodded to himself when he seemed unrecognizable enough. He reached for his black bottom half mask with spikes aligned vertically in the middle[1], and used a sticky charm on it as he brought it onto his face – just in case.

He knew that some places had glamour-proofed entryways and the only way for him to cover up his facial structure and scars was to apply thick layer of makeup, or a mask and wore clothing that covered all of his skin. He brought his hood up to shadow his eyes and grabbed a hold of his invitation card.

" _ **I'll be going now. Take care of Chaos for me, Mana."**_

" _ **Yess Marcster."**_ Manasa hissed.

He waved her off and she slipped out of the bathroom without much trouble. He then picked up Suki and wrapped the massive snake around his shoulders. He adjusted the serpent's size to fit his shoulders, however Suki was still considered large for a snake his breed (rattlesnake). Suki was mainly used as an intimidation factor for Ignatius, since many mistook his slender size for a pushover.

" _ **Be sure to hold onto me tightly, Suki."**_ He hissed as he felt a tug on his Magical core.

_OOOO_

He landed gracefully on his feet, with his cloak bellowing dramatically around him before they settled. His scarlet eyes roamed the area he was in, noting all the exits before his eyes landed on two dark double doors – two guards standing by its side with their hoods shadowing their features.

The employer was sure cautious. His Magic tendrils had poked the wards, and he was impressed. Very impressed actually. The wards had all three types of Magic – Light, Dark, and Grey. It would be a pain to break through them, however it was possible.

He strode forward and stopped in front of the right guard, before handing the man (no women could be that broad and tall) his invitation. The man scanned the invitation before he took out a quill and a blank parchment.

"Write your name on it, sir."

Marcaunon took ahold of the quill and immediately noticed the Magic on it. This was the type of quill that would show the two guards whether he was Ignatius Rose or a fake. If he was the latter, the ink would glow.

This would be tough for anyone that had faked their names or had stolen the invitation from. Lucky for him, this quill could be tricked by a master Legilimens. There was a trick to it of course – by creating thoughts of him as he had always been called Ignatius Rose, and the quill will think it as truth.

He wrote his name with no problem and was ushered inside by the guard on the left. The inside of the doors they were guarding was empty with only a long dark marble table and chairs in the middle of the room. His guard pointed to the chair at the right of the head seat, and Marcaunon sat down with his back straight and his hood down – it was considered rude to have one's hood up before and during a meeting.

After the guard had left, he took in his surroundings. There were two chandeliers dangling from the ceiling above the table, and a fireplace a few arm lengths behind him. He crossed his ankles and wiggled his toes uncomfortably inside his leather boots. The plush carpet beneath his feet was thick and he wondered if it would be soft to touch.

A minute passed before the doors opened and revealed another person in a dark grey cloak. Marcaunon recognized the early 40s year old man from when he had registered another one of his potions to the Ministry. Adalbert Grantz was the man's name. He has blonde short hair that was slicked back, similar to Draco when he was in first year, and droopy blue eyes. The man was tanned and average looking at best, with a crooked nose, stained teeth, and dimple chin. Adalbert looked buffed to be a Potions' Master though, and Marcaunon would've labeled him as a muscle man rather than a man who prepares potions for a living had Marcaunon not recognized him.

The guard pointed to the chair opposite and to the left of Marcaunon and headed back out. The two men stared at one another after Adalbert had seated himself, and the blonde was the first to break the silence.

"Adalbert Grantz." He extended his hand towards Marcaunon.

Marcaunon only stared at the appendage with his lips curling in disgust – not that the blonde could see it from behind his mask. His persona for Ignatius Rose was a quiet albino man with a loathing for human contact. Ignatius was reserved, and would only reconsider jobs that were interesting in his opinion. Ignatius would never be the first to start a conversation, and has a  _habit_  of talking over everyone who is below him in his eyes.

The hand retreated back to its owner after a few more seconds of him not returning the gesture. Adalbert opened his mouth with a frown on his face, but was interrupted as the double doors opened once more, revealing the guard and another man in an army printed green cloak. Marcaunon hummed lowly to himself as he checked his wrist watch. It seemed like every minute, a Potions' Master would arrive via portkey.

The guard ushered the unknown man to the seat furthest away from Marcaunon but on his side of the table, before leaving once more.

The man was someone he did not recognize. He was tanned and had muscles, with fierce dark eyes and a permanent grin etched onto his face that oozed roguish charm. He has dark spiky short hair and a scar running across one side of his forehead to the other. He looked to be in his late 30s, but nobody could know a Magical's age due to their slow aging.

Adalbert and the stranger stared at each other before the stranger's grin became wider, if that was possible.

"Kiriwar. You?" His voice was rough, and it matched his appearance perfectly.

"Adalbert Grantz."

"Whitey over there?"

Adalbert only shrugged.

"So a quiet one eh?" He saw Kiriwar turned to him from his peripheral vision before Marcaunon felt eyes roaming his body – he wondered why he felt kind of violated.

Just as his mental clocked shrieked that one minute had passed, another person, this time a woman, entered the door together with the same guard. She was seated two seats away from him before the guard exited. Again.

The woman wore a white wool coat, and her chestnut colored hair was long and wavy, with wide chocolate eyes that were aligned with thick eyeliner. She winked at the three men with her fake eyelashes and smirked when Adalbert blushed heavily. She could be considered quite good looking, however Marcaunon wondered if she really was behind all those layers of makeup – women were similar to metamorphmagus when they apply makeup. She looked to be around her early 30s, but again, one could never know with women and their makeup.

"Hi~" Her voice was low and a little husky as she crossed her arms under her chest fa–…breasts. "Engel Souen, a  _pleasure_  to meet your acquaintances."

"You may call me Kiriwar, gorgeous." Kiriwar grinned at her and she giggled at being called gorgeous.

"A-Adalbert!"

"And you?" She whispered as she leaned closer to Marcaunon.

He only turned to her with an unimpressed raised brow and looked away. He heard her made a noise from the back of her throat, but ignored her in favor of checking his dark sharp nails that had studs glued to them in a random pattern.

"How rude."

Marcaunon frowned lightly when another minute had passed without anyone else entering. He soon heard a commotion outside before the doors opened, revealing a scowling man and a pursed lipped guard.

He was then seated at the opposite of Kiriwar. The newcomer wore a black cloak and didn't look like much, with his greying hair and wrinkled face. Marcaunon assumed the man was in his 50s, and that his oily hair was the result of potion fumes left untreated. Being a Potions' Master does that to one's appearance. It gave Potions' Masters and Mistresses early wrinkles, dried skin, stained teeth, and oily hair. The only way to protect themselves from these fumes was to own many beauty products, though in Marcaunon's case he need not do anything – his cells would just replace the damaged ones. The stranger had a round belly, and Marcaunon could only avert his eyes when the man gave a wet burp.

Before the three could introduce themselves (again), the door opened and revealed yet another man. The guard ushered the latest newcomer to the seat two down from Adalbert.

Marcaunon assumed the late 30s year old newcomer was a Weasley because of his Weasley-like appearance, with a tall frame, red hair, blue eyes, and freckles. The redhead wore a dark red cloak and had a messengerbag on his lap.

"Please enjoy some snacks whilst you wait for my Master to arrive." The guard spoke and left soon after a few plates of finger snacks appeared in front of each seated person.

Marcaunon stared down at his plate and swallowed subtly. He was always weak against sweets, however his mask got in the way of eating. He could never eat anything when he was in his Ignatius persona due to the damn disguise.

Each of the respective Potions' Masters (and lone Mistress) took out a potion bottle and poured a drop into their plates. He assumed that they were taking precaution before consuming anything, especially when their employer was unknown. When nothing happened, they begun snacking – it made him pout at the unfairness. He would've done the same as them, but alas, damn mask.

"What's wrong whitey? Don't got any potions to reveal if yours is poisonous?" Kiriwar mocked as he pointed a finger at him. "Are you sure you should be here? Eh?"

He stared back cooly and snorted before looking away. He saw the man twitch at being dismissed so casually.

"My~ I could lend you some…for a  _price_ that is." Engel purred as she smiled at him.

" _ **Wretched harlot! Little Master told me to guard Marcster from the likes of you!"**_ Suki made himself known as not only just a fake decorative snake and bared his fangs that were dripping with venom at Engel, whom reeled back instantly in shock and fear.

Marcaunon's eyebrow twitched. He didn't need guarding. Really, Chaos was sometimes too overprotective of him. He sighed and patted Suki's diamond head soothingly as the serpent draped himself over Marcaunon's shoulders and seat.

"W-what the hell!? That thing's alive!?" She shrieked as she pointed her red painted nails at Suki, her face covered with disgust and the slightest bit of fear.

" _ **I'll relieve that finger off your hands, woman!"**_

Engel must've felt her fingers were in danger as she quickly hid them from the serpent's sight. Marcaunon chuckled lowly at his pet's antics and glanced at the still shaking woman.

"I apologize for my pet's actions." His monotonous deadpanned stated otherwise though. "He was just frightened by your harpy-like voice."

"Excuse me!?" She shrieked, and thus he proved his point on her voice being harpy-like.

"I don't really wish to apologize twice…but if you insist. I apologize for my pet's action. He only reacted because your voice was killing my ears."

"How dare yo–"

"And I would be gratified if you would stop trying to converse with me."

"Do you know who I–"

"Not really. What was your name again?"

"Stop int–"

"Oh yes. It was something similar to Eagle was it?"

"No! Not–"

"You must've been a dreadfully noisy baby…I pity your parents."

"I–"

"Yess, I already know your name. So would you mind quietening down please?"

"Arghh! Stop! Just stop! Stop talking over me like I'm someone unimpor–"

"You definitely are unimportant in my eyes." Marcaunon chuckled, his eyes alight with mirth as he observed her face going from red to purple. "You alright there? Purple doesn't suit you, Eagle."

"I'm sure she won't be disturbing you any time soon." The Weasley cut in as he smiled good naturedly. "I'm Felix Weasley by the way. May I ask for all your names?"

"Iunius." The pot belly man said as he stuffed yet another sandwich into his mouth.

"Kiriwar." The roguish man grinned whilst playing with his food.

"Adalbert Grantz." The blonde introduced with a strained smile. "Engel is the woman." He continued as he saw that Engel was still trying to calm herself down.

"And you?" Weasley asked him.

Marcaunon's lips parted and just as he was about to answer, the door slammed opened and a man that appeared in his middle 20s strode inside, almost as if he were gliding with those long legs of his – his leather shoes not making even the slightest of noises when the man walked towards the head seat. The man had dark brown, almost black, short hair that was neatly combed to one side, and eyebrows that were curved almost elegantly. His features were highly attractive in the eyes of both males and females – high and sharp cheekbones, a straight nose, and lips that were curled slightly into a confident smirk. The man wore a white collared shirt underneath his black fitted vest and slim fit dress pants. His crimson leather belt matching his tie.

The most attractive feature of the man however, was those narrowed crimson eyes of his. Marcaunon could only force his entire body to relax when scarlet met familiar crimson. He was so screwed if this was who he thought it was.

* * *

[1] Google 'As Nodt' for a clearer image. He's from Bleach and I just love his mask!

_Rainbows and Letters,  
GenderlessPerson_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Chance Encounters**

* * *

 

_Date: 01 May 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's study_

Marchosias sighed in disappointment as he has yet again failed to locate anything regarding his biological father. He closed his mother's desk drawer harder than intended due to the sheer frustration he had accumulated, and crossed his arms in thought as he leaned against the huge parchment filled desk.

The Goblins were out. Blood rituals were out. Ancestry potions were out. Britain's pureblood lords were out. Family tree tapestry was out. Asking his Godfather would be a useless waste of time on both their parts. The Gaunts had no other survivor except his other, younger yet physically older self, and Marchosias refused to believe that he was born from an incestuous relationship – Marcaunon wasn't the type that would fuck his own brother or father.

He raked a hand through his hair and pushed himself off the desk. Perhaps he could take a walk around to cool his head off – and to get more ideas of course. He knew that that slut Vevila would be searching for him soon, so he made haste as he wandlessly summoned the floo powder that was on the mantle of the fireplace (he would be taller than the damn fireplace soon) and threw a handful before stepping inside.

"Leaky Cauldron."

He stepped out from the pub's fireplace with no difficulty on his part, and wandlessly yet subtly vanished all the soot that had made home onto his clothing – no animal onesies thankfully, only a dark red shirt with a form fitting dark vest and pants. Even though he was feeling quite sullen, he schooled his features into one of carefree innocence with practiced ease and strode towards the entrance of Diagon Alley, intending on searching for other's misfortune – he wasn't shy to say that he was the type of person who took pleasure in the sorrow of others.

He stood in front of the entryway and just as he was about to tap the access pattern on the bricks with his finger, a man cleared his throat behind him to gain Marchosias's attention. He hid his irritation by smiling shyly up at the man. The man however froze in his place as his hazel eyes widened just a fraction. Marchosias didn't expect such a reaction but assumed that this was one of his mother's many acquaintances that didn't know of his existence – he did look eerily alike Marcaunon after all.

"Yes mister?" he tilted his head to the side cutely and forced his eyes to widened as if to show pure innocence on his part.

Whilst the man was busy gaping at Marchosias, his ruby eyes roamed the tall figure before him. He has short messy dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and was definitely well-build. The man looked to be in his middle to late thirties judging by the wrinkles carved into his face. There was a ring on his ring finger, proudly displaying that the man was married. Perched on his nose however was a circular framed eyeglass that was eerily similar to Harry Potter's. It made his blood boil just thinking about the brat that was listed on the top of his hit list before he firmly reeled in his hatred and anger. This wasn't  _Potter_  (he spat the name with acid even in his mind) for Morgana's sake. Just someone who looked eerily similar to that undying brat.

"Eh…" The Potter-look-alike cleared his throat once more before he smiled down at Marchosias. "Were you separated from your parents, little boy?"

"Daddy told me to wait for him at Flourish and Blotts, but I got curious and entered Leaky. Please don't tell him!" His eyes automatically watered and he stared up at the man with obvious guilt. Oh how he loathed using such a degrading form of manipulation, but alas, little boys were unable to charm adults without the victim appearing as though they were pedophiles.

"Fear not little one, we'll just have to keep this a secret from your… daddy then." The way the stranger said  _daddy_  was odd, and Marchosias stored it into his mental files just in case. "Though let's get you back to Flourish before your daddy finds out."

"But… Daddy told me not to follow strangers." He crossed his arms like a petulant child and gave the man an adorably pouty but suspicious glare.

"And your daddy is right… However I am no stranger." The man smiled and patted Marchosias's head as if he were a puppy. The temptation to cause harm, and maybe maim this fool was high but he continued his act. "I'm Charlus Potter, a… friend of your daddy's."

He inwardly grimaced at his streak of bad luck. No way in hell will he bloody go with a Potter of all people!

…That was what he would've preferred anyway, however he was curious as to his mother's and this man's relationship. Potter didn't conceal the guilty expression on his face quick enough when he had said  _friend_.

"Really?" He drew closer and tugged on Potter's robe sleeve childishly as he peered into Potter's hazel eyes. "But why didn't daddy say anything about you?"

The man winced and in that very moment, he brushed against Charlus's outer layer of thoughts. The man's mind shields were moderate at best, but he wasn't called the most feared legilimens even in his younger days for nothing – the man wouldn't even feel anything unless Marchosias prodded deeper.

Marchosias's discovery almost made him AK the man that very instant. Oh he had other plans for this fucker rather than to grant him a quick and painless death.

* * *

_[Warning: Sexual Content]_

_Charlus trailed kisses onto the body of a slender and pale young man with messy dark hair, his hazel eyes not once leaving hesitant scarlet as he parted his bed partner's legs widely._

…

_He forced the body beneath him to turn and pulled the pale man's waist up so that his rear was bared. He licked his lips in excitement and kneaded the rounded globes before him – he could feel his strained member wanting desperately to enter such a beautiful body._

…

" _You want more don't you, you damn whore?" He huskily asked as he thrust deeper into the tight body, relishing in the moans the pale man beneath him let out. He observed how his one night stand had his hands gripped tightly (knuckle white) onto the sheets, and he whispered words into his bed partner's ear – words that he didn't know had hurt this man more than he knew._

" _Scream for me."_

…

_He turned the pale man over and stared into the tear stained, yet deliciously blushing face. He smirked at the thought of him having the chance to dominate such a beautiful man and thrust in harder than entirely necessary, loving the sound of excited (pained) moans that this whore was giving him._

…

" _S-stop…"_

" _I…know you love…this."_

" _N-no p…please… Ah!"_

" _You like that? You little slut…"_

…

_He caressed his bed partner's soft and silky dark locks, fascinated by how sexy this pale man was even when unconscious. He shook his head to rid of his dirty thoughts and quickly donned on his attire – he had to get back home to fetch his wife for their marriage anniversary soon._

_He took out his wand and pointed it at the young man's head._

" _You were a good lay, but my wife would kill me if she were to find out what happened between us. No hard feelings eh?_ **Obliviate** _."_

_[Warning: End]_

* * *

Marchosias only blinked rapidly at the tragic news of him being a half-Potter (and Harry's fucking future  _uncle_ ), not wanting to show any outward reaction that may bring forth suspicion – now was really not the time to be hysteric over his current body's sperm donor! He pushed the disturbing thoughts out of his mind. He had other things to think about, like how Charlus Potter had  _practically_  forced himself onto his (very unwilling) mother. Marcaunon would've never cried even under immense torture, his mother's pain tolerance was off the charts, so it was obvious that his mother didn't want Potter's fucking dick inside of him!

This fucking Potter however didn't stop even when he  _knew_  that deep inside, Marcaunon had wanted the man to stop. He just kept going because he was too sexually aroused – no consideration about his partner's, even if it was only for one night, pain and discomfort at all. Yes Marchosias was mentally scarred at seeing his mother with a dick shoved inside his arse, but this situation at hand took higher priority – he was already considered insane during his reign once upon a time after all. A little more mental scarring won't hurt him.

His blood boiled as his murderous intent spiked up to massive levels, however on the outside, he continued to smile innocently at the man, who had offered his hand to Marchosias with a kind smile. He took said appendage and walked with a skip in his step as if he was an excited child on a trip to a candy store.

Charlus Potter would rue the day he touched Marchosias's mother that way – Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt was  _his_. His eyes narrowed dangerously and if anybody were to take a proper look into them, they would've fled the minute his ruby orbs had changed into crimson – madness was the only emotion that was recognizable, and they would've undoubtedly compared Marchosias Mort Gaunt to a beast hunting for blood.

* * *

_Date: 01 May 1967  
Location: Malfoy Manor, Conference room_

The meeting proceeded soon after the man, whom Marcaunon wish wasn't who he  _knew_  that man was, sat at the head seat. Panic clawed at him, threatening to show on his face, however Marcaunon only rolled his shoulders as if to reduce an ache and thank Merlin that he actually wore a mask for this alias – he contradicted himself but his identity as a Gaunt was of a greater importance than eating (delicious looking) snacks.

"Gentlemen – and you as well, my Lady," His voice was that of a rich baritone, and Marcaunon saw Engel quiver from the corner of his eyes – perhaps in fear? "I  _thank_  you all for taking the time off your busy schedules to attend this meeting. I am called Voldemort, and I will be the future  _employer_  of my chosen two from this selection."

Marcaunon swallowed inaudibly at the confirmation that yes, this was Voldemort and not just a mere doppelganger. The others had no idea of what they were getting into – whichever two who were to be chosen would be marked for life. And he meant  _for life_. The Dark Mark was so deeply engraved into a person's arm and Magical core, that any intention of cutting said arm would cause excruciating pain far worse than that of the Cruciatus curse – it may even lead to insanity.

How he now regretted Ignatius's fabricated trait of accepting shady job offers that seemed interesting and challenging enough. After this proposition was done and over with, he would head straight back to the guild master and announce that Ignatius Rose was on hiatus for an undetermined amount of time… but first, he would need to retrieve his invitation card from the guards – his Magical signature that was inserted into said card could be traced back to him.

"Are there only two vacancies?" Kiriwar asked with a confident grin as he crossed his arms over his muscular chest.

"Indeed." Voldemort took out a quill, an inkpot, and a folder from who knows where and placed it atop the table in front of him. "Now if each of you were to inform me of the reasons as to why you were recommended by your guild master, Jellal, I would be most pleased."

Alright, a chance has presented itself. His acting was top notched and he could downplay his skills without much suspicion. Voldemort's eyes landed on Iunius first, and he took out a blank parchment from within the folder. The pot belly man seemed to get the hint as he brushed the crumbs off of his robe before speaking.

"I am called Iunius. I've been a Potions' Master for… 17 years. I created many Temperature Protection potions, as well as boil cures. I specialize in health potions."

The chubby man's length of experience did not fulfil to his achievements good enough for him to stand out amongst his rivals. Many competent Potions' Masters would be able to achieve much more in seventeen years. Marcuanon mentally crossed Iunius out from the list and gnawed his bottom lip worriedly – the rest would hopefully be better to gain the attention of Voldemort.  _Hopefully_.

"People call me Kiriwar. Two years since I became a Master. I created the Night vision eye drops. My specialty lies in Perception Increase potions."

Perception Increase potions were definitely difficult for even Masters to brew. If they were to even stir in the incorrect direction, the results could prove harmful to the user. They could turn blind, or deaf, or mute, or all three actually. He mentally highlighted Kiriwar's name on his list, however his attitude could use some work.

"Felix Weasley. Four years since I've attained my Mastery. I created the Nightmare potion, and I also enhanced the Aging potion to last slightly longer. I specialize in mind effect concoctions."

Now this was a (pleasant) surprise. Albus would be weeping right about now if he were to find out that one of his beloved Weasleys had created such a deadly potion – the creator of these types of potions were normally only known by the guild master of the creator's guild. The Nightmare potion was mainly used for mental torture since its time of creation, and even after decades had passed by, it was still a popular choice for Dark Wizards – especially Death Eaters. He had to give credit to this man – definitely someone who will be hired, even if he was from a Light oriented family.

"Engel Souen!" Engel's face was beet red as she stared dreamily at Voldemort – Marcaunon was briefly reminded of Luna. Maybe Engel was a seer as well as a Potions' Mistress? "I have twenty years of experience in being a Potions' Mistress, and my most accomplished enhancement was Amortentia – my recipe prolongs the potion's effects. My specialty is creams – anti-wrinkle creams, skin bleach creams, and fat-burning creams to name a few."

Marcaunon blinked owlish at the only woman in the room before he crossed her name from the list instantly – even if it was pretty impressive of her to enhance such a delicate potion, Voldemort hated Amortentia more than anything in the world (for Chaos it had to be Harry Potter though). The future Dark Lord was born from his mother dosing his father with Amortentia after all.

He idly wondered how old Engel was underneath all that makeup of hers – probably older than Iunius. Marcaunon could never cease to be amazed at how women were similar to metamorphmagus with their makeups. But twenty years of experience in making beauty products… Now she was definitely someone who would die with youthful, wrinkle free features.

"Adalbert Grantz. It's been six years since I held my Masters' certificate. My specialty lies in hair potions. I enhanced the Eye-correction eye drops as well as the Pepperup potion."

He shook his head slightly at the blonde – do all blondes have hair obsessions? He recalled the time when he sneaked into Malfoy Manor and swapped all (there was a room specifically for hair products) their branded hair products with hair thinning potions. That day, he was hunted down like a criminal by the entire Malfoy family. It was one of the still fond memories he had of his own ruined world.

Although the Malfoy family would love nothing but to hire Adalbert, Marcaunon was unsure if Voldemort was the type to be caught up with his looks – he did after all sacrifice them for immortality. Adalbert Grantz was crossed out from his mental list as well. Voldemort would undoubtedly be hiring Felix and Kiriwar – they were the most beneficial to his cause.

"You're next whitey." Kiriwar grinned roguishly and slouched forward onto the table. He mentally rolled his eyes at the uncouth bloke.

"Ignatius Rose." He drawled with boredom. There were a few sharp intakes of breaths, but he ignored them – it was an expected reaction. "I attained my Mastery last year–"

"Prove that you're actually Ignatius Rose and not someone pretending to be him." Kiriwar gave him a dangerous grin with narrowed eyes – eyes that were filled with jealousy and denial.

"I created the Liquid Happiness or Felix Laetificans." He continued as if Kiriwar had not said anything. He saw the man twitch at being ignored and only smiled smugly underneath his mask –getting onto other people's nerves was a trait and hobby of Ignatius Rose… though they amuse Marcaunon as well.

"I've yet submitted any enhanced potions before, and I am still unsure about my specialization due to my inexperience." There. He was definitely not getting the job now – nobody would hire someone without previous experience in enhancing and no specialty whatsoever.

Everyone was silent for a moment before Kiriwar stood up angrily with his hands slammed against the tabletop – quite forcefully he might add.

"He's definitely a fake! Ignatius Rose's specialty is potions creation – everyone in the guild knows that! It's common knowledge!" Kiriwar barked and glowered at him with hateful eyes.

Marcaunon wondered if the roguish man was a fan of his – many of the Department of Inventions personnel were sorely disappointed when they found out that he was indeed Ignatius Rose, mainly due to his arrogant demeanor and his  _habit_  of talking over someone he deemed unworthy. He only studied his nails with bored scarlet eyes, knowing that this would further irk the hot tempered male further.

"Hey! Are you listening to me, huh!?"

Kiriwar's voice softened and became background noises to Marcaunon, as they entered his right ear and exited his left almost instantly. He idly thought back to what his little Chaos was doing – the little tyke was definitely bored out of his mind, and a bored Chaos was a destructive Chaos. Marcaunon hoped that his bedchambers would still remain intact after he had returned from this uneventful meeting. He didn't know why that child wanted to know who his fath–

"Whitey! Hey! Don't ignore me you bloody–"

–er was badly. It wasn't as if his son's sperm donor was important, and Marcaunon would rid of Charlie soon enough. He was just delaying the inevitable because of all the paperwork that had accumulated whilst he was busy with something far more important. That was the only reason. It was not like he was avoiding his one night stand. Pssh. Like real. He sighed at his thoughts and absentmindedly scratched Suki's head. Maybe he should order Death to kill that bastard?

"It would be wise of you to take a seat, Mr. Kiriwar… Before I lose more of my patience." Voldemort's sharp and cutting tone brought him back from his inattention and he focused back to the meeting.

Kiriwar reluctantly sat back down, however he continued to bore holes into the side of Marcaunon's head. He expertly and with practiced ease disregarded Kiriwar's attempts of murdering him with the glare of a basilisk's, and lowered his head slightly. It made his fringe fall into his eyes, and even though he could still partially see, it was better than nothing – his heart was hurting with guilt (something he previously thought he had discarded) every time he looked at Voldemort. It was ultimately Harry Potter's fault for killing the Dark Lord and dooming his world into a desert wasteland.

A parchment soon appeared in front of each of them, and they picked it up to read. Marcaunon blinked at what was written on it before he looked up, only to regret it a second later. Voldemort was staring at him intently, and it made his heart beat faster if that was even possible – as if he was experiencing cardiac arrest. He loathed the feeling and wondered if Voldemort would cover his face with a paper bag if Marcaunon were to ask nicely.

"Pardon me for asking, but have we met before, Mr. Rose?" Voldemort whispered softly to him whilst the others were still busy with reading their parchment, those narrowed crimson eyes taking in every detail of his reactions.

"I'm sure I would've remembered someone as charismatic as you, Mr. Gaunt, if we were to have met before." He whispered back after a second, and made sure that his hands were nowhere near his mask – people tend to cover or scratch their lips when they tell a lie. He needed to time his answers perfectly so that he would not appear suspicious in Voldemort's eyes – instant replies would convince Voldemort that he was lying, whilst delayed replies obviously meant that he was making shite up.

Voldemort only continued to gaze at him attentively. He was beyond unnerved at this point and decided to pull the man's wondering thoughts into getting back on track.

"May I ask for an explanation regarding this?" He spoke louder so that everyone would be able to hear his question, and tapped the parchment gently with a sharpened black polished nail.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed slightly at him (calm down heart!) before he blinked and looked away – it reminded him eerily of Chaos. He was barely able to contain in his relieved sigh at having those crimson orbs away from him.

"Certainly. I require all of you to brew the potion written on your respective parchments. This will allow for me to access your practical skills."

"How long do we have?" Iunius asked as he rubbed his stubble chin in thought.

"However long you may require. I have already prepared a lab for each of you." Voldemort stood up and waved them to do the same, which they did. "You will each be observed by my men."

"You think we will cheat?" Kiriwar sneered as he tilted his head slightly upwards, as if looking down on Voldemort.

"Just standard precautions." Voldemort might have seemed nonchalant to the eyes of strangers, but Marcaunon had known him long enough to know that Voldemort was putting in effort to rein back his temper due to Kiriwar's unmarked status – it wouldn't be good to scare of potential minions after all.

The crimson eyed man turned on his heels and moved further into the conference room where a dark, almost unnoticeable door was at. They followed behind Voldemort and after they have entered, noticed that there were six more doors – their respective names already carved onto each door.

Voldemort only smiled charmingly as he waved for them to enter their designed labs.

_OOOO_

He crossed his right leg over his other as he flipped through yet  _another_  magazine he had brought with him just in case – people tend to stop trying to talk to him once he pretended to be reading intently. He had finished his potion, Veritaserum, ages ago. However he knew that an average person would take more than just fourteen days to brew such a complex potion. Twenty eight days, or one lunar phase, was the usual amount of time needed for completion for most, if not all.

After he had walked into the lab he was provided with, he ignored his  _examiner_  and summoned one of his beloved butterflies to give Death a message to pass onto Chaos, and his son to Albus. Vevila would likely be substituting his classes until his task was completed, and he knew that Albus would understand because Potions' Masters usually accepted a job or two from their guild every year – Slughorn was the same of course.

Chaos though… He was worried about his son. His butterfly came back only after a week had past, and reported to him that Chaos had returned to Dormus Mortem covered with layers of blood on him. He had all but ordered for the butterfly to keep an eye on Chaos, and to report back to him if there was something amiss.

Fifteen days had passed and he was utterly bored out of his mind. He had casted a Confundus Charm on his examiner, and it made the Death Eater (mask and all) a little dazed and unresponsive… Fine,  _a lot_  dazed and  _totally_  unresponsive. Again, he should emphasize how bad he was at mind arts – legilimency was easy to him because he just had to shatter all their shields and basically mind rape them. He would think of something afterwards of course – he did not know whether or not this particular Death Eater was important, and he did not want to take any risk.

"Thirteen days to go…" He murmured solemnly as he ran a hand through his still bleached white hair. "Thirteen days until I am able to remove this bloody god forsaken mask off of my face."

His whole body twitched when his nose begun itching yet again. If only he could just… scratch… that… itch…! He slammed his hands onto the stone table, which had scattered empty glass bottles on it as well as his finished truth serum, and stood up from his seat. His mask was definitely something to be thrown into his fireplace afterwards.

Perhaps he could do something else, other than reading, to busy his mind with. Making another batch of Veritaserum was out, since Voldemort only provided the necessity amount for one bottle, and conversing with Suki was also out in case someone overheard them.

"Why you gotta be so rude?~ Don't you know I'm human too?~ Why you gotta be so rude?~ I'm gonna marry her anyway~" He sang softly as he crouched down with his elbows rested firmly on his kneecaps whilst he observed his familiar, strangling a rabbit he had pulled out from his emergency supply bag, with boredom.

... Parasite songs were so catchy even after a century has passed by – Magicals should  _really_  improve their music standards.

"Nice to meet, where you been? I could show you incredible things~" He chuckled at Suki as the serpent gave an impression of a glare when Marcaunon begun poking the rabbit that was halfway through his familiar's jaws.

"Magic, madness, heaven, sin… Saw you there and I thought… Oh my God, look at that face~ You look like, my next mistake~ Love's a game, wanna play?~"

"I sincerely hope that you're only taking a break, Mr. Rose."

He was instantaneously a few steps away from his previous spot, twirled around, and in a stance with his right arm horizontally across his chest and his left tucked sharply backwards – both hands held daggers that were pointed to the intruder as if preparing for an instant kill.

He only managed to stiffen further when he recognized the intruder to be Voldemort, who had his head tilted to one side. He recognized the gesture as one of Chaos's unconscious habit he always exhibited when intrigued. Marcaunon forced his body into a relaxed state as he straightened up after hiding his daggers up his sleeves.

"I am." He murmured and shifted subtly to stand in front of his finished concoction.

Voldemort's sharp eyes followed his backwards steps up until his back touched the stone table, and with no further prompting needed, the future Dark Lord stalked forward. Marcaunon held his ground as his  _cousin_  stopped just in front of him, Voldemort's chest almost touching his unmoving (frozen actually) body. He flinched when a pair of long arms trapped him against the table, and shifted shyly away from those arms that touched his sides – or tried pointlessly in this case.

He mentally soothed himself into believing that he only felt unbearable with Voldemort's close range due to his Ignatius Rose's dislike for human contact persona, not because Marcaunon himself was feeling impossibly unnerved.

Did Voldemort figure out that Ignatius Rose was only an alias? Why was the future Dark Lord standing so close to him? Did the man want to intimidate him with his bigger and taller frame? All these questioned that raged through his mind made him almost sneer at how pathetic he was being – he was not someone to be intimidated that easily. He was the Master of Death, an immortal person with unlimited amount of power.

Marcaunon narrowed his eyes into a dangerous glare as he tilted his head upwards (he only reached Voldemort's shoulders) to meet the man's gaze. Just as he parted his lips to demand the man to back the fuck off (politely of course), Suki reared his head up and bared his venomous fangs at Voldemort.

" _ **Despicable two legged hairless monkey! How dare you touch my Marcster so casually!?"**_ He almost chocked on his own spit when Suki called Voldemort a frickin  _hairless monkey_ of all animals. Voldemort on the other hand, only raised an elegant brow as he made an amused sound from the back of his throat.  _ **"Shall I sink my fangs into this insolent two legged, Marcster?"**_

Marcaunon only blinked without even a hint of comprehension to what his familiar had voiced out. Ignatius wasn't a Parselmouth, so he should not be able to hear anything other than incoherent angry hisses. Hopefully his familiar would get the clue and keep those jaws firmly shut – why he didn't take precaution to inform Suki not to speak to him was a mistake on his part. Mad-eye would've been sorely disappointed in him if that one-legged man were to find out.

Voldemort ignored the irritated snake and reached behind Marcaunon before he took a step back. This however did not reassure him nor did it make his shoulders relax. In his cousin's right hand was his finished bottle of Veritaserum. The man surveyed the glass bottle for a moment as he hummed lowly in thought.

"It took you fifteen… no… less than fifteen days to complete such a potion. I would've declared it impossible if it were done by anyone other than you, Mr. Rose."

Marcaunon didn't know how to reply to that, so he only gave a clueless expression, or tried to – his mask was still very present on his face.

"Also, I do have to ask about what you did to my…  _employee_  over there." Voldemort gestured towards the dazed Death Eater.

He weighed the pros and cons of telling the truth before he sighed and patted Suki's head soothingly to calm the serpent. It would be useless to lie about the Death Eater's condition. Voldemort would undoubtedly be fixing his minion afterwards and find out what Marcaunon did anyway.

"A Confundus charm gone wrong I'm afraid." He indifferently stated as he shrugged his delicate shoulders. "I dislike being watched whilst I work."

Voldemort gave a lingering glance at his minion before he turned on his heels and headed towards the door, but not before  _demanding_  that Marcaunon follow. He gathered his familiar onto his shoulders and fell in step behind Voldemort, feeling dread radiating from his gut.

* * *

_Rainbows and Encounters,  
GenderlessPerson_


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind not the "Christmas Special". This chapter was posted on another website during Christmas.
> 
> This is an "EXTRA/OMAKE". Please do not confuse it.

**Christmas Special Chapter!**

* * *

 

_Date: 25 December 1975  
Location: Hogwarts, Slytherin Dormitory, Chaos's room_

Marchosias lay on his back with his hands behind his head, waiting impatiently for the last of his roommates to leave the bathroom. He was usually an early riser and the first to use the showers, however he had returned to the dorm early into the morning and stupidly fell asleep without setting his alarm clock. He rolled over to one side with still heavy eyelids and buried his face into his bolster – it was too comfortable and warm to be ignored.

The sound of the bathroom door creaking open made him perk up. Finally. He shuffled out from underneath his covers and enveloped his feet with layers of warming charms before he dared to venture out of his bed. He should really remind his mother (again) to bring in fluffy warm carpets for the winter time – the dungeon floors were just too cold for this season, or any season really.

His roommate smiled and gave him small greeting as they passed each other by, and he returned in kind, albeit a little more huskily than intended to. He firmly ignored the way his roommate had turned bright red and closed the bathroom door behind him – it wasn't his fault that his voice was deliciously sexy after waking up. Even his godfather had commented that it would be easy for him to attain a lover – not that he didn't already know that. His mother on the other hand wasn't pleased and had hugged him tightly whilst muttering about murdering any hormonal teenagers that would try to jump on his  _'cute little baby boy'_. Marchosias snorted at the reference.

He swiftly unbuttoned his green silk pajama top and slipped out of his clothing before stepping into the shower stand. The hot water that cascaded down his body made his muscles unwind, and he tilted his head upwards with a relaxed sigh.

He didn't know how long he was in there for, but when he was finally done, his fingertips were all pruney. He wiped himself dry and donned on his winter uniform and Slytherin robe, forgoing his shoes as per usual – he was powerful enough to make warming charms that last the whole day without tiring. Even though school was out for this day, he was still uncomfortable in wearing anything but his uniform within the walls of Hogwarts – or perhaps he was just tired of his mother's constant whining of  _'you look so much cuter with onesies, Chaos dear'_.

When he stepped into the Slytherin common room, all eyes were instantaneously upon his form. He withhold a sigh and strode confidently forward, intending on getting some breakfast for his visit to his mother – he might not seemed like the type, but he wanted to receive his gifts from Marcaunon and Mort without further delay. He absently fingered the onyx pendant that was given to him by his mother on his forth birthday and smiled slightly in remembrance. It was a happy occasion for him, and even if all the gifts he had received from his two guardians were useless, he would still treasure them like they were one of his Horcruxes. He suddenly scowled. Was he turning  _soft_?

_OOOO_

" _ **Good morning, Salazar."**_  He greeted the portrait of his ancestor as he stood in front of his mother's private quarters, a paper carry bag containing food in his left hand.

" _ **Why if it isn't young Marchosias."**_  The elder Slytherin crossed his right leg over the other as he leaned back on his throne arrogantly – it was an endearing sight he has long gotten used to.  _ **"You're late for an early riser."**_

" _ **I overslept. Is mother still in?"**_

" _ **He is."**_  Salazar suddenly gave him an amused smirk that made Marchosias's instinct scream out that something was wrong.  _ **"Along with another man."**_

He narrowed his ruby eyes in suspicion, not liking the way his ancestor's green orbs were shining with mirth.

" _ **Open."**_

" _ **Do try to control yourself."**_  Was what he heard as he stepped through the portrait slash entrance.

He strode forward and just as he turned the corner, his whole body stilled. There, on the settee, was his long term antagonist, Tom Riddle, Marvolo Gaunt, or Voldemort – the man changed names depending on the situation. He bristled like a cat when his physically older self smirked in what was known to be  _haughtiness_  at Marchosias as he brought the wine glass to his lips.

"Riddle." He hissed with narrowed eyes, feeling quite satisfied when Voldemort's grip on the glass tightened – Riddle wasn't something the both of them liked to be called by. "What a  _pleasant_  surprise to see you here. One would think that a man of your stature does not have much free time – or am I wrong in thinking that you hold even a candle to your  _political_   _colleagues_?"

"Oh  _Chaos_ ," His most hated person in the world cooed mockingly. "your painfully obvious expression of hatred brings great pleasure to my already festive spirits."

This  _cheeky_  (and not in a good way) little… Marchosias gritted his teeth in frustration and schooled his expression into one of bored indifference. His younger and much arrogant self would always cause his childish emotions to appear at the most inconvenient of times – stupid bothersome uncontrollable teenage hormones they are.

"My, you're quite bold today. Did those useless maneuvers you called schemes finally attain good results?" Voldemort's mask cracked and Marchosias grinned gleefully. "Oh wait… He thinks of you as only his  _cousin_. Nothing more… nothing less. How  _pitiful_. I would offer you solace, but alas, I have no sympathy for a conceited  _gentleman_  such as yourself."

The glass in Voldemort's hold shattered into a thousand pieces, and Marchosias's grin turned deranged as he watched his younger self waved a negligent hand to clean the mess he had caused, before standing up with a cold expression on his beautifully sculptured face – the same face he saw in the mirror every morning with only a few  _slight_  differences to tell them apart.

"Watch your tongue, Marchosias Gaunt. Your mother would grieve if you were to lose it due to your carelessness with words."

"And you should watch where your hands roam, lest they become affected with gangrene."

Marchosias hated the way Voldemort touched his mother. A friendly pat to Marcaunon's shoulder would turn into an intimate caress of his mother's arms – Voldemort doing the caressing and Marcaunon just smiling innocently back. It was downright infuriating to watch such a thing without being able to do anything – his mother would always give him a disapproving gaze when he openly forced his counterpart to  _back away_  via physical or Magical means.

"Mother complex." Voldemort only laughed without a hint of emotion.

He twitched, yet still maintained his gleeful grin. He could kill his younger self without much problem, seeing that he would soon be reaching his Magical majority. He was already powerful as it is, seeing that he was a reincarnated soul – adding in his vast amount of knowledge, he could literally take over the Ministry with sheer force alone.

"At least I have a mother," a low blow even for him, though totally worth it when Voldemort's lips twisted into an animalistic snarl. "and was not conceived by a love potion."

"Mark my words, Marchosias Gaunt. I  _will_  painfully kill you someday."

"And I shall grant you something far worse than even death could provide." Like forcing Voldemort into nothing but a pitiful wraith – preferably forever.

They glared at each other, both their crimson (he was beyond furious) eyes glowing with power just waiting to be released. How he wished Mana was here – he would've sicked his serpent onto his younger self. Voldemort was lucky that she was currently hibernating together with Suki inside the Chamber of Secrets – Jormy was tasked to guard them every year during winter.

"Marvolo," The exasperated voice of his mother made him school his features. It wouldn't be good to look so murderous so early in the morning after all. "have you seen where I put my glas–oh… Good morning Chaos dear. Did you have a good night's sleep?"

Marcaunon went up to him and he habitually bent forward so that he was closer to his mother's height. Marcaunon planted a kiss on his forehead and smiled lovingly at him.

"I did. And good morning to you as well, mother. I brought breakfast." He took ahold of his mother's elbow and led him  _away_  from Voldemort, and towards the small dining area – where they usually ate if they didn't want to dine at the Great Hall. "Did you sleep well?"

"Thanks, love. I'm starving. And I couldn't sleep – all nighter sadly."

"Where's your assistant? I don't see him anywhere."

"On leave. You know that his family wanted him home to celebrate  _Christmas_." His mother sneered out the holiday as if it was something disgusting. Nothing unusual about that.

"And why is that waste of space here?"

"I don't understand your constant animosity to your uncle…"

"Because."

"Because…?"

"Just because."

Marcaunon only shook his head as if resigned, and sat down at the seat he was led to. Their dining area contained a four seater wooden table, and he sat at his mother's right. Voldemort, being the detestable person he was, followed after them and sat opposite of him to his mother's left. It was wishful thinking on his part that Voldemort would get the clue (oh Marchosias knew that bastard did) that he wasn't wanted  _anywhere_  near them.

"Pardon me for not bringing your share as well, uncle  _dearest_." He smiled charmingly as he removed the plates of food from the paper bag. "I, after all, had no idea that you were  _lurking_  around here like a stalker."

"You need not be apologetic, Chaos. I could always share with your mother."

"I'm actually on a diet right now. So you can be eternally grateful with having half of my share."

"I prefer turkey–" Marchosias swapped his chicken wrap with Marcaunon's turkey wrap, ignoring the way his mother had closed his eyes as if praying for patience.

"And I have turkey."

They both continued to smile at one another, neither planning on giving in. He would rather die than approve of his younger self's intentions towards his mother – it was already a shock to find out that he had a counterpart in this alternate universe. Having said counterpart court his biological mother? Over his fucking dead body. It was not happening. Nope. Never. Ever.

"Do you both have to bicker like children so early in the morning?" Marcaunon sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "And have you seen my glasses, Marvolo? They're missing. Again."

"We were just conversing, Marc. And no, I have not."

Marchosias snorted softly. What a liar Voldemort was. It was obvious that his counterpart had destroyed that abomination Marcaunon called glasses – which he grudgingly approved of. He tore the turkey wrap into two halves and threw (hard) one at Voldemort, who caught it with no problem. He clicked his tongue in evident annoyance and took a bite out of his wrap violently, yet still looking graceful. His younger self only smirked at him whilst Marcaunon shook his head at their antics.

"Why are you here anyway?" Being straight forward was the only way he could gain an answer from Voldemort.

"I'm merely spending Yule with my family, is that so wrong, dear Chaos?"

"Your date is what's wrong, uncle dearest. Are you growing senile?"

"I was unable to be here at the 21st. I'm sure you understand that I'm a busy person – you will soon turn fifteen after all… Though I highly doubt you're mentality is of that age just yet."

"Oh? At least I don't have an appearance of an old man." He beamed at Voldemort as he stabbed his salad with a salad fork harder than required.

"My, your eyes must be in poor condition to mistaken my youthful appearance for such. Perhaps I should help gouge your eyeballs out and exchange them for better ones?" Voldemort smiled back patiently as he used his spoon to violently scoop out a portion of mashed potatoes from Marcaunon's plate.

"Alright that's enough!" His mother sharply cut in before he could hurl yet another insult at Voldemort – the cycle of endless bickering. "Merlin… Just… Eat your breakfast."

He scowled as he nibbled the disgusting broccoli on his fork – it wouldn't be good to waste good food, no matter the horrid taste. He swallowed with a slight grimace and put his fork down, already losing his appetite just by Voldemort seating together with them.

"Where's Mort, mother?" He questioned as he lifted his beloved coffee mug to his lips.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Marcaunon hummed in thought before he continued. "Though he should be arriving soon."

Breakfast continued in that fashion, with him and Voldemort trading barbs at one another. Marcaunon just ignoring them after a few number of times trying and failing to get them to stop. When the three finally finished with their food, they made their way towards the lounge. He made sure that Voldemort was seated on the armchair whilst he and Marcaunon sat at the settee.

"Little Lord." Chaos looked over his right shoulder and raised a brow – Mort was always appearing at random moments behind the person being spoken to. "Your present."

His godfather dropped a small box wrapped in black on his lap and ruffled his hair with a gloved clad hand. He thanked the mysterious man and pocketed his gift – he was so not opening it in front of Voldemort.

"What about me?" Marcaunon said with wide puppy dog eyes.

Even though Mort's face was shadowed as usual, Marchosias just knew that Mort was avoiding looking into Marcaunon's eyes. He only spun on his heel and walked away, but not before shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Meanie…" His mother pouted and huffed as soon as Mort was gone.

"I did get you something, Marc." Voldemort purred as he stood in front of Marcaunon (when did he get there!?) before leaning forward, their noses almost touching. "Though I would rather give you something  _bigger_  and more  _pleasurable_."

A tic appeared on Marchosias's temple and he took a deep breath to keep his calm. Voldemort was just taunting him – his counterpart knew that those kinds of innuendos would lead him nowhere when dealing with Marcaunon. A medium sized rectangular box wrapped in Slytherin green was handed to his mother and Voldemort (finally!) backed off to return to his previous seat.

"Thank you, Marvolo." Mother beamed at Voldemort with a slight reddening of his pale cheeks, and Marchosias could practically see what kind of thoughts his arrogant younger self was having. "May I open it now?"

Voldemort nodded and crossed his right leg over the other, the sight similar to his ancestor's portrait, however he didn't feel even an ounce of affection for this man. His mother was careful with unwrapping the box, and only after a minute had passed did they manage to see what was inside. Marchosias shifted closer as Marcaunon took out a silver briefcase from within the box. They both looked at Voldemort with identical raised brows, however Voldemort only gestured for his mother to open said briefcase.

The silver briefcase clicked opened and both their eyes widened. Inside was filled with all sorts of weirdly shaped knives – mainly to bring forth excruciating pain rather than to cut cleanly. He blinked rapidly in disbelief and deadpanned at Voldemort. His counterpart actually gave knives used mainly for torture as a Yule present. He knew what his mother's reaction would be like and cursed his younger self to hell and back.

"Oh Marvolo… I'll be sure to use it frequently!" Marcaunon's eyes were bright with excitement as he fingered a crude looking bone knife.

"I'm glad you like it. I did have a hard time picking a present for you." Voldemort's eyes were uncharacteristically soft with fondness and Marchosias avoided looking into those crimson orbs. He knew that his own eyes turned that way when he was in the presence of Marcaunon as well. Maybe it was not only him who was turning soft around Marcaunon.

"Thank you so much, Marvolo." Marcaunon set aside the briefcase and skipped to Voldemort. He twitched violently in his seat when his mother hugged his most hated foe tightly, which was returned with eagerness.

Voldemort, that arsehole, was peering at him from Marcaunon's shoulder with a pleased expression. He gritted his teeth and glared at that bastard when those fucking hands of his shifted  _lower_. It was time to intervene!

"Mother I have a gift for you as well."

It was an instant reaction that made Voldemort glower at him. His mother released his physically older self and skipped towards him in anticipation. He pulled his mother onto his lap and wrapped an arm around Marcaunon's waist – he  _needed_  to replace Voldemort's  _cooties_  with his. With his free hand, he took out a small sized circular box and handed it to his mother. Marcaunon immediately opened the lid, revealing a black flask bangle inside.

"It's filled with chocolate liquor. And it will refill as soon as it is empty."

"Thank you, Chaos dear. Now I can finally appease my cravings during class!" His mother wrapped those pale scarred arms around his neck and kissed his cheek in gratitude.

He shot his glowering counterpart a shit-eating grin and wrapped his arms tighter around his mother. Hah! Of course chocolate was Marcaunon's favorite thing in the world – and not even torture tools could hold a candle to his mother's incomparable sweet tooth.

"Oh I have a present for the both of you as well."

Marcaunon jumped out from his lap and took two presents from who knows where, but not before he slipped the flask bangle through his left wrist. He then plopped a crimson red wrapped box onto Marchosias's lap, before doing the same to Voldemort. "I hope you both'll like it." Marcaunon returned to his seat and beamed at them.

He unwrapped the present and blinked owlish at what was inside the box. It was a shrunken espresso maker. He took it out and waved a hand over it to return it to its original size. He tilted his head curiously and turned to his mother.

"Will this work even in Hogwarts?"

"Yess." Marcaunon nodded proudly. "I tinkered with it a little so that it works with Magic no problem."

"Thank you, mother." He smiled softly and kissed his mother's cheek in appreciation. He was glad that he could use Magic on this machinery to prepare coffee whilst he was busy with taking a shower.

He turned to Voldemort when he heard a rattling noise and almost choked at his own spit. In his counterpart's hold was a long spiked chain that could be used as a means to hold a person in place… with no way of escaping. Ever. His head mechanically turned to his mother and twitched when he saw his mother's eyes looking eagerly at Voldemort. Marchosias had once upon a time heard that a psychopath would tend to give presents that they usually would like – so if it was rejected, the gifter would get to keep said present for himself. He made a mental note to buy for his mother more restraining torture devices for his birthday.

"This could be useful for disciplining those incompetent idiots that called themselves my followers…" Voldemort murmured as he examined the spiked chain. "Thank you, love."

Marcaunon beamed, and he could see a tint of red creeping onto his mother's cheeks. He scowled. His mother may be dense, but his feelings for Voldemort were painfully obvious – even if he did say that Marcaunon liked Voldemort as only a cousin.

"You're welcome! I'll go get some eggnog." Marcaunon bounced away.

"… As much as I loathe be doing this, you are a Gaunt as well." Voldemort spoke and threw something at him.

He caught it and stared at the rectangular thin gift that was wrapped with Slytherin green, resting innocently on his palm. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He really hated how alike their thought process was.

"And I as well." He threw a circular shaped small box at Voldemort, which the man caught, and tore open the gift he had received.

He shot a look at the man as his finger traced the letter T.M.R. on the cover of a very familiar looking black diary. Was Voldemort trying to drain out his life force using the Horcrux he had made from Myrtle's death? Voldemort on the other hand, fingered the Slytherin crest cufflinks with a serene look on his face.

"That diary contains a portion of my  _memories_  when I was a teenager. If you have trouble with schoolwork, it is not shameful to ask – or in this case, write – for aid." Voldemort said slowly and stared into Marchosias's eyes for a moment before he continued. "I would ask that you not rid of it, and to keep it safe from those who wish it harm."

His hands tightened on his previous boyhood diary and struggled to keep the confusion off of his face. Why was Voldemort handing over one of his Horcruxes so easily? There was a chance that Marchosias would use it against him if he were to find out. What Voldemort didn't know however… was that he could never destroy any of the man's Horcrux – it felt wrong to destroy a piece of his own soul. So he only nodded and pocketed the diary into his shoulder book bag.

"I will guard it."

"I'm counting on you then."

They didn't thank one another, only remained uncharacteristically silent the whole time as they waited for Marcaunon.

"I'm glad to see that this place hasn't been destroyed by the both of you." Marcaunon stated airily as he came back with three goblets and a jug full of eggnog.

He chuckled and smiled as he stood up to help his mother with the heavy looking jug of eggnog. Just another ordinary year of celebrating Yule with his dysfunctional, psychopathic, yet endearing family members. And yes, he counted in Voldemort as well – only at times like this though.

* * *

Rainbows and Mistletoes,  
GenderlessPerson

 


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 17: Realizations and Expectations**

* * *

 

_Date: 16 May 1967  
Location: Malfoy Manor, Hallway_

The dreadful feeling in his gut intensified when they entered Voldemort's private study – does the Dark Lord have his own personal office at every of his follower's manor? In order for him to calm down, he distracted himself by taking in his surroundings whilst mentally noting all the possible exits. The relaxed atmosphere in this rectangular room was something Marcaunon had not expected. The long forest green walls and comfortable cushioned armchairs near the warmly lit fireplace made Marcaunon's anxiety almost dissipate. Almost.

Voldemort gestured for him to take a seat on the pristine white armchair near the fireplace whilst the Dark Lord himself seated directly on the opposite of him. Marcaunon was confused. Shouldn't Voldemort be seating behind his mahogany office desk like any other employers that would interview their potential employees?

The man took out a few pieces of parchment and crossed his right leg over the other as he began reading. Marcaunon only blinked owlish and followed his cousin's lead by crossing his legs as well – it was his naturally relaxed posture rather than a defensive one. His cousin then placed the parchments on the classic round side table on his right before he lightly tapped it twice. Two ceramic teacups appeared on the rectangular glass table in front of them, both filled with what he assumed to be green tea.

"Would you like some tea?" Voldemort started with a light tone. Marcaunon didn't let down his guard and remained vigilant on the inside. Making idle conversations were one of the many ways of ensuring an approachable and companionable disposition.

"I appreciate the offer, but no thank you." Wasn't the host supposed to ask first before serving? Perhaps Voldemort just forgot. He mentally shook his head and pushed it out of his mind – he wouldn't be able to drink it with his mouth covered anyway.

"Pity. Slendy makes the most aromatic of teas." Marcaunon only remained silent. "Tell me, Mr. Rose, why did you choose to be a Potions' Master?"

"Money." A money faced arrogant person would turn anybody off. Nobody would want to hire someone that could be bought by their rivals – he was a potential back stabber in the making.

"Is that so…" Voldemort only cocked his head to the side. "Why not become an information broker then?"

Marcaunon only stared at Voldemort stupidly. It was true that information brokers would receive a hefty sum if they provided information that could be used as potential blackmail material, however what does that have to do with anything?

"Why so confuse, Mr. Rose? I'm sure you'll make a great information broker… You did call me Mr. Gaunt after all." Voldemort's eyes narrowed when Marcaunon subconsciously crossed his arms over his stomach. "Not many know that I descended from the Gaunts – I can count them all with one hand actually… And let me tell you that none would  _dare_  to betray me."

…Did he really call Voldemort a Gaunt? He thought back to the meeting fifteen days ago.

* * *

" _Pardon me for asking, but have we met before, Mr. Rose?" Voldemort whispered softly to him whilst the others were still busy with reading their parchment, those narrowed crimson eyes taking in every detail of his reactions._

" _I'm sure I would've remembered someone as charismatic as you, Mr. Gaunt, if we were to have met before."_

_Voldemort only continued to gaze at him attentively._

* * *

He swallowed inaudibly and mentally hit himself on the head. How could he have made such an elementary mistake? He was so busy with thinking about Voldemort being his cousin (and about Chaos) at that point of time, that he naturally referred Voldemort as Mr. Gaunt. He at least soothed his fraying nerves that he had not called Voldy  _Cousin_. That would be most unsettling for the both of them.

"That was a mistake on my part. You look alike to my client –" Marcaunon bit his lower lip in horror. Why was he acting so out of character!? He was supposed to be anti-social and tight lipped! Damn Voldemort for throwing him off his rhythm.

"Oh? Are you saying that a client of yours is pretending to be me or… I have to review on being the last of my family." The way Voldemort said it made Marcaunon's arms tightened before he forced them to rest on his lap. Calm down Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt. He took a deep breath in and stared into Voldemort's crimson eyes with indifference.

"Client confidentiality, Mr. Voldemort."

"I will pay you a considerable sum if you provide me with details of your client, Mr. Rose."

He was in a pickle now.

"How much will you be offering?" Curse himself for creating such a backstabbing, money-faced traitorous persona!

"Depends on what you are able to provide." And curse Voldemort for being such a  _slimy snake_ , as  _Harry's_  ex-best friend so eloquently put it.

"Name."

"You only know your client's name? I rather doubt that, Mr. Rose." Voldemort's crimson eyes darkened, as if daring Marcaunon to lie.

"Age… and appearance."

"What about Mr. Gaunt's occupation?"

"He did not say." It was true that Marcaunon Gaunt was very secretive about his occupation. He had intercepted and altered any mail that his students had sent to home if his name was included in the contents. Also, he placed spells on the students so that he will be at the back of their minds unless they spotted him in the crowd or they were back in school. Never say that he was not careful.

"Very well then. I only desire his name and age."

"What about his appearance?"

"I will assume that his appearance is similar to that of mine – since you've mistaken us so."

Marcaunon refrained from clicking his tongue in annoyance. Since he was giving out Marcaunon's basic information, he thought he could get more dough from Voldemort with the appearance part. Voldemort seemed to have noticed his irritation, and only raised an amused brow at him.

"Alright. That would be 100 galleons." A little expensive, but hey… Voldemort was bloody rich. "Each."

Voldemort only took out a pouch from his pockets and tossed it to him. Marcaunon caught it and started counting instantly. He would've blushed at his awful mannerism if he were currently Marcaunon and not Ignatius – Chaos would undoubtedly stare at him with unconcealed horror at Ignatius's lack of courtesy. When he confirmed that there were really two hundred galleons inside, he raised his head and looked away when Voldemort only gazed at him with mirth in those crimson orbs of his.

"Marcaunon Gaunt. 23 this year."

"Thank you, Mr. Rose." Voldemort gave him an empty smile, which would have undoubtedly charmed anybody if it were not him, and levitated his respective cup forward before taking a tentative sip. "The reason why I asked for you to follow me is not only due to the slip of your tongue, but because I want to hire you."

Why!? Why would Voldemort want to hire such a traitorous person such a he!? Wasn't Voldemort someone who hated traitors with a passion – Snape was a prime example. He did not fancy being bitten to death by Nagini.

"May I ask why, Mr. Voldemort?"

"Voldemort, if you would." The man smirked for a split second before that expression was replaced by one of contemplation. "Is there any reason why you would not want to be hired?"

"Not at all… Voldemort."

"Then there is no reason to ask." Voldemort's smile broadened. "Is there?"

"No…" His cousin nodded sharply at his reply.

"Expect my letter in two weeks' time, Mr. Rose. You are dismissed."

He stood up from him seat and bowed reluctantly, careful not to jostle Suki too much, before leaving the man's study. He would need to be prepared by then – the  _marking_  will undoubtedly be in a week's time.

_OOOO_

"Professor!" Marcaunon turned around when as heard a female voice, and halted in his steps when he spotted Vevila brisk walking towards him in high heels. The lady was sometimes a headache to deal with – especially when he was already (mentally) exhausted.

"Vevila." He greeted just as she reached him, a smile already plastered onto his youthful features. "I apologize for burdening you with my workload during the past two weeks."

"I'll forgive you if you take me out to dinner." She leaned forward and hugged his right arm.

"Forgive me. My schedule for this week is already filled. How about the next?" He smiled apologetically to Vevila as he replied.

"You promise?" Her lower lip jutted out as she blinked rapidly – as if dust had gotten into her eyes.

"I promise."

"Just the two of us?"

"Do you not want to dine with Chaos as well?" Marcaunon gave her a perplexed expression.

"It's not that, Professor…" Her index finger trailed down his clothed chest as she stared into his eyes. "But I would like some… dessert as well."

Oh! So Vevila knew that Chaos loathe sweet things. How considerate… for a Malfoy that is. His lips curved upwards and he cocked his head to the side lazily. It seems that he had misjudged her.

"Of course, my Lady." He grabbed the slender hand that was resting on his chest and brought it to his lips, his eyes never once wavering from her grey orbs. He pressed a light kiss to the back of her hand before he guided her forward with one hand resting on the small of her back. She only giggled, her cheeks having a slight reddish tint. "Were there any difficulties whilst I was away?"

"Not at all… however I am concern about Ms. Black."

"Which Ms. Black are you referring to?"

"The eldest – Bellatrix, Marc." He blinked. Did he give express permission for her to call him by his name? If so, he must've been too busy with paperwork and just nodded idly when she had asked.

"What ails you, Vevila? She appears docile enough in my classes."

"She…" Vevila hesitated slightly before she looked at him with wide teary eyes. He sincerely hoped that she would not cry – she would look like a panda with smudged eyeliner and mascara otherwise. Not something he would like any of his students to see – a Professor has to have a good image for their students… disregarding Dumbledore of course. "She's extremely hostile towards all the female Professors, including myself."

Marcaunon hummed in thought at that. His treatment on her was flawless, so he doubted that there would be any abnormalities in her personality due to him tinkering with her brain. Perhaps in this alternate world, Bellatrix becomes a woman hater?

"What about the male staffs?"

"They are treated fairly except for…" She suddenly paused in her tracks and stepped in front of him, her hands resting on his clothed chest as she leaned forward. "Before I forget, Professor Noegg McMuffin has submitted his letter of resignation."

"Hmm… It's not really a surprise. The DADA position is cursed after all. Will Albus be finding a new one or will the other Professors be taking turns?"

"Neither."

"Oh? Did Albus already find a replacement?"

"Headmaster Dumbledore informed that I take over your classes for this year, whilst you take over DADA."

"What?" His left eyebrow twitched in annoyance.

That damn old goat – give him an inch and he would take a mile. Marcaunon may be qualified to teach all the subjects Hogwarts provided, however he had already (firmly) stated that he preferred Potions, and that he would only become a temporary Professor for DADA for the whole year if the position remained empty for at least  _three_   _months_. It had only been  _fifteen days_ , and he could only assume that that old bastard became lazy and just handed him the load.

"I'll go have a friendly conversation with Albus." He gently pushed her away from his person and took a step back. "Thank you for informing me Vevila. I shall see you at dinner."

_OOOO_

Marchosias's sour mood only worsened when turned the corner and spotted Vevila Malfoy standing directly in front of his mother, their breaths almost mingling as they converse. He quickly hid behind a bronze statue of a bald man and peeked at them. The woman's pupils were dilated and he could only sneer in disgust when her breasts intentionally came into contact with Marcaunon's clothed chest – she was obviously excited and turned on, and if it were not for her underclothes, her hardened nipples would be proudly on display.

He resisted the urge to maim the bint this very instant and took a deep breath to calm himself. His mother was finally back home, so he should be smiling, not frowning – sometimes Marcaunon could misunderstand the smallest of things.

Just as he was about to move closer to them, Marcaunon turned on his heels and strode towards the direction of the hidden stairway that leads directly to Albus's office. He only blinked and assumed that his mother had been notified of the change – Marcaunon was definitely not happy, judging by the killer glare he was producing. He only hugged the tome that he was clutching to his chest tighter when his mother bypassed his hiding spot.

"Tempus." He murmured under his breath. The numbers 1640 appeared in front of him and he waved them off after a second. What should he do whilst he wait for dinner? It was boring the whole time without Marcaunon – he didn't mind Mort's company (he wasn't forced into any cutesy animal onesies), but it just wasn't the same.

"Oh if it isn't wittle baby Chaos." He twitched and turned to see Bella skipping cheerfully towards him. "Say hello to your future mummy~"

He scrunched his nose in distaste. Why did Bella have to be obsessed over his mother? He would never approve of  _anyone_  courting Marcaunon (apart from Mort) and he would never call Bellatrix ' _mummy'_  of all things –  _deranged woman_ fit better.

"Bellatrix." He greeted with boredom and slight annoyance, as if she was a mere fly buzzing around him. "What an unpleasant surprise to see your repulsive face when dinner is but an hour away."

"What are you doing here, future son of mine?" Bellatrix ignored his insults as if it was a daily occurrence (which it was) and cooed as she stopped just in front of him and crouched down so that they were at eye level. "Is itty bitty wittle Chaos having a bad day?"

Indeed he was having a bad day, and he has no desire to make is worse. He turned on his heels after a brief glare, and strode away from the mad teenage girl, blocking out his future minion's annoying voice. Bellatrix on the other hand, puffed out her cheeks in a pouty manner at being ignored, before her eyes shined brightly as an idea formed inside her brain. She suddenly scooped Marchosias, who gave a manly squeak of surprise, and situated him on her right hip.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy balls are you doing, Bellatrix!?" He struggled in her hold as he tried to escape without the aid of Magic – normal seven year olds were like Muggle children, helpless without their sometimes accidental Magic outburst.

"Such words! No future son of mine should be so crude." She rubbed her cheeks against his, much to his utmost disgust. "I'll punish you by… this!" She started to tickle him, and Marchosias cursed his young body. He took no notice that his tome had dropped to the ground as he giggled and laughed uncontrollably.

"S-top… ahaha… it yo…gah… you imbecile! Kyahahahaha!"

This torture continued on until a few moments later, until Bellatrix  _finally_  stopped. He panted in exertion, and he could feel his cheeks heating up as well as tears welling inside his eyes – much to his mortification. He started to hiccup and sob before he let out a wail that could shatter eardrums on magnitude levels. Bellatrix's expression of panic could be seen through his blurry eyes and he took in a small portion of pleasure at her discomfort – though he still could not control his bloody body!

"A-ah… Chaos sweetie… Don't be like that. Bella Bella was only playing around. Who's the most cutest and bravest of them all?~ You are~" She cooed and rocked him gently in her arms, but he only continued to wail louder.

Stupid childish body. Stop crying like a baby for Morgana's sake, Marchosias Mort Gaunt! It's bloody disgraceful!

He suddenly felt himself being snatched from the teenager's hold and into another female's – he could feel the person's breast on his cheek, so it was definitely female.

"Ms. Black! Why are you bullying Professor Gaunt's son?" He recognized the voice of Minerva and clutched her robe tightly. Might as well take advantage of this situation and appear as frightened as he could be.

"It wasn't on purpose, Professor McGonagall! I was only tickling him!" She waved her hands around in panic, before she realized that that was an unsuitable behavior for a Black heiress. She quickly blanked her face. "What I meant to say is that, Marchosias looked lonely without Professor Gaunt so I thought that I could cheer him up by tickling him."

"And the results are rather counterproductive don't you think so, Ms. Black?" Minerva's strict voice suddenly changed into that of a comforting mother as she rubbed Marchosias's back. "There there. I'm sure your father would not like to see you in this state once he has returned." She wiped his tear stained cheeks with a handkerchief and smiled gently at him.

He nodded with a sniff whilst mentally swearing to himself that he would not burst out crying in the future. He would need to train this new body of his so that he could have a higher threshold to anything that was done to his person, especially torture.

"Detention, Ms. Black."

"What!?" Bella screeched in disbelief. "But I didn't do anything wrong, Professor! I was only trying to help."

"And for your intentions, I will give Slytherin a point. However the way you handled it… You will be having two weeks of detention with Professor Gaunt."

Bella's face remained stoic, but Marchosias saw her true expression – happiness and excitement. He had trained himself in the art of detecting micro expressions since he was but a young adult. Bella would have to constantly put her guard up for at least another three months – bones will definitely be found in her pumpkin juice.

All the thoughts of revenged suddenly was replaced by that of an uneasy feeling – like a bucket of ice cold water being dumped on his person. The reality of him being Marchosias Gaunt and not Lord Voldemort became more factual than before.

" _ **I am Marchosias Gaunt. Not Voldemort. Only a child with the memories of my past life. I am but a weak, helpless, and insecure child."**_  He whispered weakly under his breath, with newly formed tears that he would later deny trailing down his already tear stained cheeks. This reality really hit him hard. And it hurts.

_OOOO_

He exited Dumbledore's office with a tired sigh, extremely exhausted after his rather one sided lecture. He had not noticed that the old coot had fallen asleep halfway, which resulted in making him rant all the more after he had zapped the Headmaster awake. The overall outcome turned out to be a useless waste of time – he was still the temporary DADA Professor for the rest of this year.

Marcaunon halted in his steps when he noticed an opened window near him, and stared out of it, registering how late it already was. Dinner was definitely missed. He grumbled about missing dessert to himself before he yawned halfway, exhausted both mentally and physically. Seeing that he could not muster the energy and effort to continue his way down the dungeons by foot, he let loose his Magic to scan his surroundings before deeming it safe, and tore open the air in front of him, creating an inky black portal. He stepped into the entrance of Death's realm, and exited into his private study with just a few long strides. He normally would have avoided doing such a thing when in Hogwarts, however he just wanted to sleep his fatigue away.

He was then suddenly flocked by butterflies, and his lips tilted upwards into the slightest of smiles as some landed on his person, whilst others hovered around him merrily. They were always affectionate after being separated from him for a long period of time.

"I'm back, my lovely sinners." The butterflies made some sort of noise as if to welcome him back, and he chuckled as they trailed after him like ducklings when he glided out of his study.

He scanned the living area for any sign of life, before he entered his bedchamber when he did not spot either Chaos or the two serpents. He brought forth a floating candle and shifted closer towards the bed. The adorable slumbering face of Chaos made him almost reach out to pinch those chubby cheeks, before he waved the candle away in case his son woke up due to the bright flicker of light.

He transfigured his clothing into silky pajamas and stealthily crawled under the covers, careful not to jostle the occupants of the bed – the two serpents were curled together at the foot of their king size bed – and he spooned Chaos to his chest, his personal warm teddy bear. His son made no indication that he was awake, and he wondered if Chaos was just as exhausted as he was. Marcaunon only buried his nose into Chaos's crown of hair and closed his eyes to sleep. He would prepare for the  _branding_  the next day… after he finished his MoD paperwork that is – much more important.

* * *

_Date: 30 May 1967  
Location: Cauldron Fever guild tavern_

He stood near a dimly lit corner of his guild's active tavern, clutching his left forearm tightly as he scanned the bar for any faces that he would recognized from the previous meeting. Voldemort had owled him the previous day. He was supposedly to meet another Potions' Master that was hired alongside with him, before they head to their Guild Master's office for a portkey Voldemort had sent to his Guild Master.

He walked over to the large bulletin board near the bar and stood only a few steps away, reading the pinned parchments and articles in boredom – there was nothing else he could do after all, and he was slightly distracted in his worries due to Chaos's silence this past two weeks. Drinking his worries and boredom away was definitely out of the question. He would never go to a Death Eater meeting slash branding when intoxicated, if he concluded Voldemort's letter for today correctly.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of rage filled dark eyes were glaring holes into his oblivious pretty head whilst he was busy with staring at the bulletin board unblinkingly.

"Uhm, Mr. Ignatius Rose sir?" He finally blinked when his name was called, and turned to the speaker with an annoyed look.

He cocked his head to the side when he recognized the man to be Felix Weasley, a fellow Potions' Master. Weasley still looked the same, with a gentle smile and happy wrinkles on his features. He was like any other Weasley boys, with ginger hair, freckles, and blue eyes. He wore the usual plain black long sleeved wizarding robes, with his wand holster strapped around his waist, and a worn out old leather pouch tied on the opposite side of the wand. Marcaunon's eyes trailed down the broad shouldered yet lanky body until he reached the man's Potions' protection leather boots – many wore that so that their feet would remain safe even if there was spillage.

"Weasley." He drawled as he gazed coolly at the redhead, like the man was nothing but dirt underneath his calf high, white stilettos basiliskhide boots – he was taller that way… not that he was short to begin with!

The redhead rubbed the back of his neck nervously and fidgeted when Marcaunon said no more. He bit back a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest, head tilted upwards in an arrogant manner. He was slightly annoyed at the fact that Weasley was still taller than him even after he wore his highest heeled boots.

"So…" Weasley croaked, before he cleared his throat weakly. "You were hired as well, Mr. Rose?"

He nodded. So Weasley was the one. It was kind of obvious if he looked at the man's creation. A person who invented such a ruthless and torturous potion, the Nightmare Potion, was someone Voldemort would likely desire to have as one of his Potions' Masters. He was unsure if Weasley had created anymore torture potions back in his original world, but it was something to look out for – just in case Weasley had had enough of Ignatius's arrogant bitchy attitude in the future.

Weasley only continued to stand at his spot in silence, not knowing what else to say. Marcaunon sighed through his nose and walked ahead, intending to get the portkey from their Guild Master. He didn't need to check behind him to see if Weasley was following, the footsteps were enough to alert him.

Without bothering to knock, he slammed the door to his Guild Master's office opened and raised a hand in greeting, with Weasley apologizing profusely for Marcaunon's lack of common curtesy from behind of him.

"… Still uncivil as ever, Ignatius. And you need not apologize for this brat's mannerism, Weasley."

His Guild Master, Jellal Frost, appeared to be in his late 40s. However everyone should not be fooled – the elder is supposedly 83 this year. He has short blue hair, and a fringe that joins in the center of his face, similar to that of the alphabet 'M', with the tips just brushing the middle of his nose bridge. His sharp brown sharp eyes were usually used for intimidation purposes, giving out a cold feeling to those who prolonged eye contact with him. He also has a red tattoo at the right side of his face – above and below his eye. Jellal's skin tone was not as pale as Marcaunon's, but it could be classified as that shade – most Potions' Masters are pale due to little to no exposure from the sun's rays. Jellal wore a simple yet elegant robe, consisting of a long white tunic with black stripes across the edges, a decorated collar with the Guild's insignia, large straps connected to decorated buckles closing the inducement on the front over a dark shirt, and matching pants and boots.

"Give us the portkey and we shall be on our way, old man." He stretched out his left arm with his palm facing upwards.

"Don't call me old!" Jellal's lips curled into a contemptuous smile before he threw an inkpot, aimed directly at Marcaunon's head.

He ducked without effort and made his way towards where Jellal was seated behind his desk. They both ignored the loud  _THUNK_  that was heard a second later, and a pained shout from Weasley.

"Hurry up. I don't have all day unlike a certain elderly with blue hair."

"I should've failed and kicked you out the second you stepped foot into my guild headquarters." Jellal sighed regretfully. "Here." He tossed a small round stone to Marcaunon, who caught it with his lightning quick reflexes. "Should I cancel your name from the list?"

"Mhm." Marcaunon hummed lightly as he rolled the stone between his fingers. "I doubt that I'll be available for a while – I suspect a long term contract."

"Your regular clients would be most saddened."

"Like I care."

"Owl me once you're finished with this job."

"Don't expect it to be done anytime soon, Jellal." He turned to Weasley and gestured for the redhead to get up. "Get your arse up, Weasley. We're going."

Weasley hurriedly got off the floor, still rubbing his nose, and touched the stone with a finger.

"We're ready. Activate it already."

"You really are a rude brat, Ignatius." Jellal sneered, but Marcaunon could see fondness in those usual apathetic brown eyes. "Be careful.  _Voldemort_." Just as the name was spoken, Marcaunon felt a tug in his navel and the two disappeared from the office without a second to spare.

Jallal stared at empty spot where the two men had previously stood on, his lips curled downwards as he tried to control his emotions. He sincerely prayed that Ignatius… no, Marcaunon would come back safely. Voldemort was a very dangerous person. It was still fresh in his mind – the way he had trembled like a child in the presence of that crimson eyed young man.

OOOO

They landed in an office Marcaunon recognized as Voldemort's study at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort was seated on one of the three armchairs near the fireplace, a wineglass in hand. Marcaunon subconsciously roamed his eyes over the figure of the seated man – elegant form fitted long sleeved crimson shirt underneath a black vest, dark slim trousers, and polished leather shoes – and took in the way Voldemort had uncrossed those long legs of his to stand up with a charming smile plastered on an equally beautiful face.

He snapped out of his dazed and bowed slightly, with Weasley imitating him, though more lower. He didn't wait for Voldemort's permission to rise, and just strode towards one of the armchairs and plopped down. He was already prepared for this encounter. He was ready and would not screw up due to nervousness.

Weasley looked panicked, not knowing if he should be following Marcaunon's example or wait for Voldemort's instruction.

"Please take a seat, Felix – may I call you that?" Voldemort himself was already seated in his previous seat.

"Of course, sir!" Weasley nodded with a smile after he had seated himself on the last armchair beside Marcaunon.

"And may I call you Ignatius, Mr. Rose?" Marcaunon shrugged uncaringly. He would've normally stared at the other like they were insects beneath him, but this was Voldemort, so he allowed it. "Good. Before we begin however, would you both like something to drink?"

"Ah.. Yes please." Weasley beamed.

"No." Marcaunon rested his masked right cheek on his fist, with his elbow on the armrest.

A wineglass that was already filled with wine floated towards Weasley, and the redhead plucked it out from the air with a quiet thank you. He saw the redhead subtly dropped a few of some unknown clear liquid into the glass before he took a tentative sip. He took mental note that his future partner was careful, and if he wanted to rid of the man, would need something undetectable.

Voldemort pulled out his bone white yew wand and flicked it. Two parchments appear and floated down to their respective hands. Marcaunon scanned the contents and hummed quietly in thought. It was a contract. It basically stated that he would be in a probation period for a month, and if his services are considered excellent in the eyes of Voldemort, he will continue to work for the man until termination or death. It also stated that he will be paid by remuneration rather than monthly, and will provide his services when called. Also, any form of betrayal will lead to death. At the end of the contract, a space was provided for his signature… and there was a  _microscopic_  sentence that said the employee will receive a mark by Voldemort. He almost missed it due to the size.

"Uhm Voldemort sir?" Weasley's voice made Marcaunon look up from his contract, to stare at the redhead with curious blue eyes. "May I know what kind of services will we be providing?"

He was curious as well, but it didn't show. He only crossed his right leg over the other, and twirled a lock of snowy white hair around his right index finger. Weasley leaned slightly forward in interest.

"Brewing of requested potions," Voldemort started as he swirled the wine in his glass. "and also creating potions that I desire – or have a similar effect at the very least."

"An example of such for us to brew and create?"

"I need competent wizards to brew health related potions – my supplied are limited after all. As for creation… Perhaps I would like some kind of potion that is able to burn only the skin when poured onto a person's body."

"Before I agree… I would like to know your goals… And why you have a group of followers, Voldemort sir." Weasley was obviously nervous when he asked that.

The question wasn't that of a surprise to Marcaunon (and Voldemort). It was quite obvious that the men followed and served Voldemort, rather than work for him – he highly doubted that Death Eaters are paid for their services. He wondered why the two of them were being paid though. It made no sense, but when did Voldemort make sense anyway?

"It is quite simple actually." Voldemort smiled  _gently_  at Weasley. "My only wish is to improve the Wizarding World – to help our community grow."

Weasley only widened his eyes in surprise.

"I need you," Voldemort turned to Marcaunon. "the both of you, to help me in achieving my dream. Light Magicals fill the majority of our community. They condemn my kind, and ignore our bills because we have a Dark Core – we are born with it, what can we do? I proposed that we have an orphanage build for those Muggleborns that live in abusive homes, but it was ignored because I am a Dark Wizard. I fear that I would need to be  _practical_  for them to listen to my reasoning. I am in need of your superior brewing skills to aid me in my and my followers' goal."

Voldemort gave a rueful smile to the both of them, a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts, and extended his right arm towards them.

"Will you join me in my pursuit for change… Felix Weasley, Ignaitus Rose?"

* * *

Rainbows and New Years,  
GenderlessPerson


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 18: Dark Mark and Confession**

* * *

_Date: 30 May 1967  
Location: Malfoy Manor, hallway_

Voldemort smiled dementedly to himself as he walked ahead of his two newly acquired Potions' Masters – he was powerful enough to show his back without worry. Convincing Weasley to sign the contract and to take his mark was as easy as stepping on a flobberworm. Ignatius Rose however… His smile vanished. The enigma only went with the flow, not even asking a single question in relation to Voldemort or his contract. It was difficult to figure out what the albino was thinking – with the mask hiding the young man's expression, and his body language giving nothing away.

The thoughts concerning Ignatius were then pushed to the back of his mind as they reached the double doors that led to the assembly room, sans chairs. His Knights were already inside waiting for them, with a few extras.

He turned to the two behind him and gave a reassuring smile – he had told them beforehand that there would be an audience when they take his mark, and that it would be a  _little_  painful. Weasley only stared back with determination in those baby blue eyes of his, whilst Ignatius ignored him in favor of twirling a snowy lock of hair around his index finger. He wanted to cut said finger off, but refrained in actually doing so. Fingers and hands are the life of Potions' Masters everywhere.

"Are you ready, gentlemen?" It was only polite to ask.

"Yes, sir!" he would need to push them into calling him 'Lord' soon.

"Yess sir…" Ignatius dragged the S like how Voldemort would when he lost his temper. He only continued to smile, as if he took no notice of the albino's strangely familiar accent. He knew another person who spoke similar to Ignatius, but he could not recall exactly who said person was – it felt as if the answer was just  _there_ , with him unable to grasp it no matter how hard he tried.

"Excellent." With that, he pulled out a black robe from one of his hidden pockets, and donned it.

He turned back to the double doors and pushed. There was a slight creak when the doors parted, and he took note to inform Abraxas afterwards. It was unbecoming to have creaky doors. He strode forward, his eyes solely focused on his throne even as his followers dropped on one knee with a bow as he walked past them. He gestured for his two Potions' Masters to stand behind another group of newly recruits, and continued onwards until he sat comfortably on his throne.

He crossed his right leg over his left and smirked at the sight before him. It felt wonderful to have all these powerful men and women with varies of talents on their knees, respecting (and fearing) him as if he were a monarch. He took out his beloved yew wand and twirled it around his fingers – a habit of his that he could not rid of no matter how hard he tried.

"Welcome my friends… I thank you all for coming." His expression relaxed into one of tranquil. "Rise – and be at  _ease_."

His followers all stood in attention with their hands firmly clasps behind their backs – like how he had trained them to when in his presence. What perfectly obedient soldiers he has in his disposal. They all looked at him with different levels of awe and admiration, and this made his blood sing exuberantly.

"I have called you all here to welcome yet another batch of recruits that have joined our cause. It is commendable for they have chosen to be here with us – to put a stop against the discrimination we Dark Wizards and Witches have to put up with on a daily basis. We will not allow our Magical counterparts to continue with their arrogance in throwing the old ways any further." He paused for effect. He needed his followers and soon to be followers to be drawn in by his speeches – to be enamored with him.

"We will revitalize, and fortify the old ways. In addition, we will not be leaving a single Muggleborn to be contaminated further by Muggle upbringing – Wizarding children should never be left in the Muggle world, especially orphans." He stood up and spread his arms. "We shall not allow any of our kind of be influence by that world any longer. We will put a stop to their Muggle traditions and religions that they needlessly bring into our world."

His followers all nodded to one another, all looking pleased and satisfied. He would always customize his speeches before every new marking commences. It was to prevent his veteran followers from growing bored of hearing the same old talk over and over again. They would only continue to grow captivated by him, and from their faces that would lit up every time he welcomed yet another batch, it worked like a charm. He smiled lightly and raised his left hand to gain their attention – which he did. They all quieted down like well-behaved dogs. He had indeed trained them well.

"Soon… We will fight for our cause – our rights. We Dark Wizards and Witches will overcome and reclaim our position in this world. We will then educate our counterparts that Muggles are the main cause of Gaia's slow, but steady deterioration. We cannot co-exist with them, only rid them and their destructive nature. That time will soon arrive – but for now… We shall welcome our new brothers in arms."

His eyes roamed over all of the people in this room. They cheered in uncontrollable excitement as they murmured to one another eagerly. He would've liked to pretend that it was everyone… but he could not. Ignatius Rose was the only person who looked indifferent – as if he had expected Voldemort's speech. He was irritated, as well as pleased. Ignatius has the potential to be his second in command – a person who would not be his  _yes_ -man. A person that would always disagree with him. A person that could debate ideas with him. A person that he could rely on without fail.

Yes… He wanted Ignatius by his side, and perhaps under him as well. Preferably in bed.

"I offered you five a chance to join us. To aid us in our cause for equality and a world where only Magicals will prevail."

He returned to his seat and smirked at the awed faces of his new recruits.

"Let us begin. Corn Yellow."

One of the men he recruited made his way forward, and stopped just before Voldemort. Yellow was recruited because of his ties with many of the Light Magicals that worked at the Ministry. He would be sent to infiltrate the Light side after being trained.

"I pledge my loyalty to you and only you, my Lord, my Master." Yellow was on his knees and bent down before he kissed the hems of Voldemort's robes.

He took great pleasure in seeing such a degrading sight – not that any his followers think it to be such. No, they would love nothing more than to touch any part of him. Even kissing the hem of his robes would be considered a blessing. They wanted to be near him – many with the intention of being his consort.

Yellow then bared his left forearm for him. Voldemort didn't make a move to grasp the appendage, only leaning slightly forward to press the tip of his beloved yew wand to Yellow's forearm. He idly wondered where Nagini was.

" _ **Morsmordre."**_  He hissed quietly and concentrated with injecting his Magic into Yellow's whole left arm, nerves, and core. It only took a few seconds. Practice definitely made it easier.

As soon as his mark was tattooed into the man's forearm, Yellow all but screamed in unbearable pain. Just as he pulled his wand away, Yellow cradled his arm to his chest, whimpering and weeping as he tried to stand on shaky legs. Voldemort was disgusted by the man's weak tolerance to pain. Perhaps he should schedule a training program for endurance in case his followers were tortured for information? A less likely chance of Light Magicals actually doing so, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared.

He presented Yellow a bronze mask, before he waved for one of his inner circle members to guide the man to where the bronze masks were situated at – the back.

The bronze masks were considered newly recruited Knights, and only those who have proven themselves to him would gain their own individual masks, whilst moving up a rank. There were four ranks in total inside his  _military_. The new recruits were given plain bronze masks, whilst individual silver masks represented their upgrade from the title of ' _newbie'_. The ones that wore half silver and half golden masks were his outer circle, and lastly his inner circle wore golden masks.

Their positions for each gathering would be – golden masks at the first row due to their limited numbers, followed by the half silver and golden masks, then silver masks, and lastly bronze masks. This was a system created so that they would continue to try and improve themselves – and to be closer to him. For his inner circle members, they would have to further their skills if they do not wish to be demoted.

For him to know whether a person is capable of being promoted or demoted, a tournament would be held every six months to test each individual. If a person were to be defeated in a duel, their rank would be switched with the one who had defeated them. This would keep those in a higher position on their toes, and not slack off.

He mentally shook his head and continued with the marking once Yellow was dragged away from him.

"Flint Beastwood." He had recruited Beastwood due to the man's dueling skills – especially in long range duels.

Beastwood stepped forward confidently and bent down to kiss the hem of his robes, before baring his left forearm for Voldemort. He pressed the tip of his wand to the man's forearm and did the same as previously. Beastwood soon let out a high pitched scream – and it almost made Voldemort howl in laughter at how girly the buffed large man sounded like. Almost. It wouldn't do well for his reputation.

He waved for the same inner circle member to drag Beastwood away after handing the beast of a man a bronze mask.

"Ezalor Light." This old man was recruited due to his talent in spell creation. Light's most infamous creation was his charge-up Magic – though only those with above average cores were able to use it. It has a few weaknesses of course. One of them was that he was required to stand rigidly for a few long seconds whilst he charged his Magic, and that few seconds could prove to be fatal.

The old man did what was required of him, and soon was screaming like the previous two. He grew bored and wished that this was Dumbledore that was screaming. Oh how he dreamt of crucio-ing that old fart into oblivion. How dare he be rejected even when he was  _clearly_  more than qualified for the DADA position.

Once Light was dragged away after given a bronze mask, he cocked his head at the other two.

"Felix Weasley." One of his beloved Potions' Masters – Madam Malfoy would be out of his hair after this. Weasley would definitely provide him with many more torture potions. The man's Nightmare Potion was genius. Pure genius.

Weasley was shaking a little at witnessing grown men screaming in pain, but he looked determined enough. Voldemort bit back a smirk that threatened to appear on his lips, and smiled reassuringly at the redhead.

"I pledge my loyalty and my potions' making skill to you… My Lord." Voldemort grinned dementedly when Weasley's head was bowed, before wiping his face of any emotions.

He pressed the tip of his wand on Weasley's forearm, his mark soon appearing on the otherwise unblemished skin. There was no scream for a few seconds, and Voldemort thought that the redhead before him was used to pain. He was wrong, of course. Weasley howled in pain as he grasped his forearm tightly, trying and failing to endure what he was feeling.

Voldemort handed the trembling redhead a bronze mask, already knowing that it will only take a few weeks before he would be moved up a rank. He waved for the same golden mask to drag the Weasley away and turned to look at his final soon to be follower for this batch.

Ignatius Rose only tilted his head to the side as he gazed indifferently into Voldemort's crimson eyes – there was no anticipation or fear. Those scarlet orbs were eerily familiar though. Like the ones he had seen in his dream, the one he could not forget no matter how hard he tried.

He remembered  _'waking up'_  drenched under a downpour of acidic rain. He remembered the ground he had walked on, how devoid of life it had felt – as if Mother Earth had lost all hope. He remembered how ugly the sky had looked like – blue was the only color he wished to see when he titled his head upwards, not green and black. It was a disgusting sight and he had wanted out of the lucid dream immediately. He could only continue walking forward, trying to find an exit, before he came across a person on the ground, their face buried into their knees, and hugging themselves in what he knew to be desperation.

He had paused to stare as the person, a male, sobbed and trembled. When he had heard the young male crying for help, his body had reacted on its own and he had instinctively casted a warming charm so that the person in front of him would stop trembling. When the male did, he looked up weakly with dead scarlet eyes, and Voldemort could only narrow his in suspicion when he saw those features.

The man in his dream had his appearance. His first thought was that his mind had created such a dream because he was feeling stressed, but when he closed his eyes, he recalled the person's features and noted how feminine it was, similar yet vastly different from his sharper ones. The person's face was softer than his, and because of the listless and hopeless expression, it made him appear smaller and frailer than he originally was. It grabbed on Voldemort's heart strings and he had this urge to protect that person from harm. He had never felt that way before, and it had frightened him to an extent.

Ignatius's eyes reminded him of that person, and with the information he was provided with, could only come up with one logical answer. The male from his dream was Marcaunon Gaunt. His could be cousin. His cousin that was alone and on the verge of losing his sanity. Marcaunon must have had unintentionally used his Magic to call for Voldemort – Salazar Slytherin had made it so that family members could contact the Lord of their House in dire situations.

He needed to find where his cousin was, and Ignatius was the key. He just knew it.

"Ignatius Rose." The name felt odd on his tongue. The reason was unknown to him, but it felt as if there was another name to this person. He trusted his instincts and made a mental note to investigate Ignatius's background.

Ignatius practically glided forward with elegance that many would envy for, and dropped to his left knee with his right hand across his chest.

"I,  _Ignatius Rose_ , pledge my loyalty to you, my  _Lord_."

Voldemort could see that Ignatius was far too proud to kiss the hem of his robes, so he improvised – the albino was special in a way. He stretched out his right hand and as if knowing what he was thinking, Ignatius's slender pale hands grabbed onto it.

Ignatius leaned forward and closed those scarlet eyes of his, before kissing the dorsum of Voldemort's hand. He could only stare at the crown of the young man's snowy white locks as Ignatius then brought his forehead and leaned it onto Voldemort's knuckles, before opening his eyes and looking up and directly into Voldemort's.

The sight before him made some of his blood rush south, much to his indignation. He pulled his hand away slowly, and brushed his knuckles against Ignatius's clothed cheek whilst doing so. He narrowed his eyes. That mask has to go soon – he wanted to see what Ignatius looked like underneath it, and to touch the surface of the albino's skin.

Voldemort saw his followers looking at him with stunned silence, not at all expected such a display. He didn't blame them. He would've been stunned as well if he had not prepared for such a thing to happen. This was scenario number eight by the way.

Ignatius acquiesced in baring his left forearm and Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand onto the scarred pale skin. He was curious as to how the albino had such scars – they were deep and covered almost every surface of his arm, as if it had once been wrapped by a barb wire for a long period of time without being removed.

" _ **Morsmordre."**_  He hissed and watched fascinatedly as his mark appeared on the scarred flesh. Ignatius was silent, and his muscles had not even tensed up as Voldemort's Magic invaded his body and core.

What a curious sight to behold. His Potions' Master was used to such pain and not even his Dark Mark, that was worse than any crucio, could make the young man scream. Voldemort's licked his upper lip. He suddenly wanted, no,  _needed_  this man on his bed, screaming his name like no other, whilst begging for release.

He gave a bronze mask to the albino.

"I welcome you into the Knights of Walpurgis, Ignatius Rose." He purred silkily.

Oh yes, he  _will_  be having Ignatius tied to his bed one day. The thoughts on his maybe-cousin were temporary pushed to the back of his mind as his crimson eyes roamed the lithe body before him. Definitely someone he wanted to fuck brutally.

* * *

_Date: 30 May 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marcaunon's Study_

He landed on his feet and hissed in pain when he accidently bumped his left forearm against the shelves. The sensation made him close his eyes tightly in discomfort. It had been a long time since he had felt such a strong feeling of agony. Even when his limbs were cut slowly with a rusted bone saw did he not blink, but getting the Dark Mark? Painful as hell. It was like the first time he had his arm cut off! Maybe it was because he was unaccustomed to his Magical Core practically being raped?

"Mother?" Chaos's voice made him open his eyes. He tilted his head upwards – when had he kneeled? – and saw the look of pure concern on his little boy's face.

"Where are Suki and Mana?"

"Forget about them. What's wrong? What happened? Did Jellal hurt you? Or was it your new employer?"

As if Jellal (all of people) could lay a hand on him without consequences! And he had forgotten that he has yet to mention that Voldemort was his new employer.

"Nothi–"

"I forbid you say that nothing has happened, mother!" Chaos glared as he strode towards Marcaunon. "Let me see."

He shook his head. He could not allow Chaos to see the mark or his scarred body – it was ugly and he didn't want to appear more of a freak in his son's eyes. Marchosias rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation at Marcaunon's stubborn nature.

"You're in Hogwarts, mother. At least rid yourself of that disguise. What if that bitc–… Vevila sees you?"

"I'm alright." He murmured and made to stand up, but Chaos firmly pushed him onto the ground so that he was lying on his back, his stomach used as a seat for his son. "Marchos– don't!"

His right arm shot up to cover his face when Marchosias had removed his mask. He wanted to push his son away, but he was feeling weak and uncomfortable – he needed to get Voldemort's Magic out of his system, and fast. He had a feeling that this would turn ugly.

"… Mum?" Marchosias's voice was weak, and it made Marcaunon pause in his thoughts. "W…why is your neck…" He felt cold chubby fingers on his neck and he closed his eyes in defeat. He knew how disgusting his unglamoured form was, especially his neck area – it was covered by a huge scar, similar to that of a collar. A degrading way to brand someone as theirs.

He dropped his right arm to his side and sighed through his nose. Perhaps it was time he told Marchosias  _some_  of his past – his true past. He opened his eyes and stared blankly into Marchosias's ruby eyes. His son's fingers continued to touch his neck and face, as if wanting to memorize all of his hideous scars.

"As you can see… I used glamours to hide these since they're unpleasant to look at." He pulled Marchosias so that his son had his face was buried into his neck. He wanted to avoid looking into those ruby eyes – afraid of being judged and deemed worthless. "I used to be suicidal." He heard Marchosias's breath hitch, but only tightened his one arm hug when his son struggled to escape from his grasps.

"However I could not die. Some Parasites found me fascinating. I was taken, and I was experimented on. The scar you see around my neck is their way of branding me." He laughed mirthlessly as the memories of being helpless invading his mind. "They would wrap any sharp bendable objects around my neck, and drag me around similar to that of a leashed dog. My regenerative abilities may be considered amazing, but having those things for more than a year? Healing so that I could stop the bleeding was more than enough for me. I needed to save my strength to escape."

"Let go." He trembled at the rejection and released Marchosias. Marcaunon covered his eyes with his right arm. "Look at me." He did not. "I said,  _look at me_ , mum."

His arm was pushed away, and his chin grabbed in a firm grip.

"I will not leave you no matter what you may say." Marchosias scowled and looked at him in resolution. "So tell me. What happened to your face? Your neck? Everything, mum. Everything."

"My face…?" He murmured as he traced the scar that ran across his cheeks and nose. "They didn't like how I looked like. They told me that they wanted me to appear like every other human being –imperfect."

"And your neck?"

"A collar for me to  _'know my place'_ , as they put it."

"And arm?" Marchosias pushed the sleeve of his right arm up.

"Barb wires. They wrapped it around barb wires, and electrocuted me if I even so far as to twitch." When they did…  _things_  to him.

Marchosias reached for his left arm, but he grabbed the small wrist. "You're in pain. The cause is your left arm. Show me."

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"Show me."

"Chaos…"

" _ **Show me!"**_  His eyes widened when Marchosias shouted, desperation lacing in his tone. "I… I just want to confirm that I'm being overly paranoid. Let me confirm it with my own eyes."

He sighed and allowed his son to push up his sleeve. He saw Marchosias's eyes widened in horror and his lower lip trembled at the sight of the Dark Mark engraved into Marcaunon's flesh, still warm and burning horribly. He patted his son's head and smiled in reassurance.

"Don't worry."

"Don't worry…?" Marchosias repeated softly in disbelief.  _ **"Don't… worry…?"**_  The room they were in began to shake violently, as Chaos's eyes bled into crimson – murderous intentions seeping out of his very being.  _ **"You ask me… not to worry…?"**_

Marcaunon pushed himself off of the ground so that he was sitting, with Chaos on his lap, and whispered reassurance into his son's ear. The books on the shelves soon started to fall, one by one onto the floor, whilst the essays he was grading tore themselves and burnt into ashes. He could not find it in himself to care about the death of his paperwork, more worried about Marchosias.

" _ **N-not permanent!"**_  He finally yelled, which caused the room to cease its shaking.  _ **"The mark isn't permanent."**_

" _ **Explain."**_  Was hissed out with venom and anger. He saw malice in Marchosias's eyes, and he just knew that Voldemort  _will_  die a gruesome death if Marcaunon did not explain properly.

" _ **Voldemort, my employer, recruited me into his group – called the Knights of Walpurgis. I sent Mort to spy on Voldemort and your godfather informed me that the Knights have a mark on their left forearm. I was already prepared to gain the mark–"**_

" _ **And to dispose of it afterwards. But how will you do it?"**_

" _ **Shall I show you, Chaos dear?"**_  At least now Marchosias was distracted by the Dark Mark rather than interrogating how he had been experimented on when was supposedly still young and living at an orphanage. Having a genius of a son was troublesome. Maybe a holiday was needed? He was still worrying about the reason as to why his son had remained eerily silent for the past two weeks – him crying over Bella wasn't something to sulk for so long.

He gestured for Marchosias to stand, before doing so himself. He pulled his son to their secret study that could only be opened by a Parselmouth, and seated himself on the settee, with Marchosias by his side.

" _ **The Dark Mark is a bastardize version of a tracking and summoning spell that Salazar made in his youth – both involving Parselmagic. It involves connecting my nerves to my core, and my core to Voldemort's so that he would know where all his followers are. This way, if a person wanted to rid themselves of the mark, Voldemort's Magic that resides in that person's core would react – bringing forth unimaginable pain. However there is a way around it."**_

Everything he said, Marchosias already knew – he was of course the older and wiser version of Voldemort. Marcaunon knew that, but it was for appearance sake that he explained it fully.

" _ **Do you trust me, Marchosias?"**_

"…  _ **I do."**_

" _ **Then do not interrupt what I will be doing."**_  He took out a crimson red rubber wrist band that had the dark mark on it, and placed it on the small tabletop in front of them – it was made by his blood and Magic.  _ **"This might be impossible for anyone but I, so I do not recommend you ever trying. Am I clear, Marchosias?"**_

" _ **Yess, mother."**_

With that confirmation, he stretched out his right hand with the palm facing upwards, and mentally summoned the Elder Wand to him. The wand heeded his call and materialized within a second, and floated lazily above his palm. He snatched said wand from the air and pointed it at his torso, where his Magical Core resided, and narrowed his eyes in concentration.

When his Magic reacted to his commands of pushing the taint from his core, his muscles tensed up at the agonizing sensation he felt throughout his body. Sweat formed on his forehead as his breath labored. Well, this was definitely worse than labor pains – and he had previously thought that nothing was worse than  _that_  hellish experience.

He slowly yet steadily directed Voldemort's Magic out of his system, and directly into the rubber wristband that was sitting innocently on the tabletop. The pain vanished almost instantly and he sighed in relief, before he pointed the elder wand at his left forearm. He gritted his teeth in preparation and commanded his Magic to flush out all of Voldemort's left over Magic residue in his nerves. The pain was that of a numbing and pulsing one, not as dreadful as the previous, but enough to bring even grown men to tears.

When all of Voldemort's Magic had finally left his body, he focused on the tattoo on his left arm and winked at the baffled Marchosias. He actually gained this idea thanks to Death – indirectly anyway. Death would've sulked if It knew. When Death had dropped him into the wrong dimension, he had mind raped a man by the name of Hisoka. Marcaunon had actually learnt two things from the man – how to stick his Magic onto surfaces, and how to directly turn his Magic into a thin cloth-like material that could change its appearance depending on the surface it was on.

He pinched his inner wrist, and peeled the Magical cloth-like material from his skin, before he dropped it on the tabletop next to the wristband. Now he could wear the dark mark during meetings, whilst taking it off when at Hogwarts – like a sticker!

He really needed to thank Hisoka – maybe he should treat him to dinner some time.

"What do you think?" He smiled at Marchosias's (who was frozen with shock) as he slipped the rubber wristband through his left hand. It settled on his wrist comfortably.

Whilst Marchosias was busy trying to comprehend what the hell just happened, Marcaunon mentally commanded the Elder wand to return to Dumbledore – who was currently digging through his wardrobe to find said wand – and patted Marchosias's head.

"I told you there was nothing to worry about." He said confidently.

"… Oh." Marchosias replied  _smartly_ , still too astonished and bewildered to think of a more suitable reply.

* * *

Rainbows and Branding,  
GenderlessPerson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Facebook group if you're interested in joining, or if you have some questions for me. 
> 
> www ,dot, facebook ,dot, com ,slash, groups ,slash, genderlessperson


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 19: You can't hide forever!**

* * *

_Date: 31 May 1967  
Location: Hogwarts, Marc's bedchamber_

His eyes fluttered open as he entered his mindscape. It has been quite some time since he sorted through his memories, and organized his mind. He didn't wish to further delay it any longer than necessary. There was a slight chance of his memories slipping into his dreams, and that would prove disastrous (to people around him).

His mindscape was as usual, dark and filled with blue swirling orbs. He walked passed rows after rows of shelves that contained more than a thousand glass orbs filled with his memories, eerily alike to those at the Hall of Prophecy. The serpent guards he had encountered paid him no mind, knowing that he was their creator. When he finally reached an empty shelf, he stood there, just staring.

The process of creating the so called memory orbs was similar to that of prophecies, and they can only be touched by him. If – it's a big IF – others were to do so ( _if_  they bypassed his guards) they would either go insane by the sheer amount of agony and hatred those balls emitted through skin contact, or they would flee from his mind the minute they overcame those feelings… if his serpents did not bite them whilst they were distracted of course. His mind defense was perfect, and it was not arrogance if it was true.

He held out his right hand, palm facing upwards, and thought back to the time where he became Ignatius Rose in order to attend the meeting held by Voldemort. He did not have much time to sort through those memories previously since he was far too busy back then. After a few more moments of recalling back all that he had seen, felt, smelt, touched, and tasted, an orb formed upon his palm, filled with swirling blue memories.

With careful hands, he placed the newly made orb onto one of the many holders that were on the shelf. He had no wish of damaging his mind any further due to his carelessness (like  _that_  one time) – breaking the orbs was equivalent to breaking his memories.

" _ **I have something to report, Master."**_  One of his serpent guards spoke.

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance, eyes not once leaving the beautiful blue orb.

" _ **Is there something amiss?"**_

" _ **There is another here,"**_  that caught Marcaunon's attention.  _ **"we do not know how to proceed, Master."**_

" _ **Destroy whoever has stepped into my mind as per usual."**_  His voice was hard and condescending. The serpent cowered, but held its ground.

" _ **But Master… He is a spe–"**_

"Interesting."

Marcaunon snapped his head to the direction of the voice, which he could instantly tell was spoken in the tongue of men rather than serpents. The guard that was near him hissed in warning at the intruder, but made no attempts of attacking, much to Marcaunon's rising ire. His real self was not an understanding and patient person as compared to who he has always been masquerading as at Hogwarts. His mind was a place where he let down  _all_  of his masks – that meant he was ruthless and scornful here, even to his own creations.

The serpent must have felt his patience thinning, for it had bared its fangs that were dripping with acidic venom.

"Who are you and how have you entered here?" He growled out with animosity, his eyes already bleeding to crimson in justified anger.

Before he had entered his mindscape, he was at Hogwarts, in his chamber for Merlin's sake! Nobody would (and could) invade his mind with Marchosias sleeping next to him – his son had set up wards to alert him of any intruders, and Marcaunon pretended to be oblivious since normal seven year olds could never perform such Magics.

The percentage of him being legilimized?  _Zero_.

The man, for it was obviously a man, was covered in shadows since his mindscape was a naturally dark place. He was unable to make out the intruder's features, but he had somewhat recognized the voice. He was unable to grasp just where he had heard it from though.

He saw the man shrug, which made Marcaunon sneer at the audacity.

"You are the reason for my presence here – as you are the one who called for me." Was the man's not-answer. He sounded far too amused for Marcaunon's liking. He loathed anyone who spoke to him as such, apart from Death.

"I called for no one, and you best be on your way, lest I destroy what little sanity you have left." For no one was sane enough to consider ever voluntarily enter his mind.

The man chuckled and took a step forward, making the shadows only covering the top half of his face. Marcaunon was annoyed at the smirk the man was wearing. He really wanted this intruder's blood.

"I will give you a final warning." The serpents that have gathered around them during their  _talk_  were all positioned to strike at any given notice. "Leave, or I shall force you to do so myself."

Before his very eyes, the intruder disappeared, only for him to appear in front of Marcaunon, the man's features were plain for all to see. Marcaunon eyes could only widen as he recognized the intruder.

The intruder on the other hand, only brushed Marcaunon's scarred cheek  _lovingly_  with his knuckles, a small triumphed smirk on his face.

"I found you, Marcaunon Gaunt." Was said before  _Voldemort_  vanished completely from his mind, leaving behind a very distraught Marcaunon and a group of serpents that were slithering away as if a honey badger was on their tails, knowing that their creator would lash out at them for their mistake.

* * *

He bolted up from his bed with cold sweat covering his body. It was only a dream. A bloody dream. There was no way for Voldemort to enter his mind when they were so far apart. There… was… no… way… Who the hell was he kidding!? Of course Voldemort was able to enter his mind, for he could enter the soon to be Dark Lord's mind as well! How naïve of him to think that their mind link would only work one way–

A small hand touched his forearm, making him jerk and slap the appendage away. There was a sound of surprise, but he paid it no mind as he scooted away from the warm body beside him, his mind too upset to think clearly.

"Mom? What's wrong?" The worried high pitched voice made him snap out from his daze, and he stared into the eyes of a very concern baby Dark Lord.

He opened his mouth to reply, but could only close it when he was unable to find any words that would explain his situation. He looked down to his hands that were on his lap, for once, feeling very lost. He felt more than see his son nearing him, and when the smaller body was close enough, he hugged Marchosias tightly, burying his nose into his son's nest of hair. His son's scent comforted him.

Those thin arms wrapped around his shoulders as to comfort him, and he finally lost the tenseness in his muscles.

"Just a nightmare." He didn't want to believe it to be anything else but a nightmare.

_OOOO_

When Marchosias had  _finally_  fallen asleep – thank goodness that seven year olds need more sleep than adults – Marcaunon warped out of his bedchambers and into his study. The only solution for him not to alert his son of his departure was to use Death's portal. Those wards were both ensuring and troublesome.

"Master." Death's sudden voice startled him far more than he would like to admit. "Good timing."

"Anything the matter?" he turned to Death after he had seated himself on an armchair.

"My presence is required elsewhere, so I am leaving this dimension for an unknown duration of time."

"What!?" he stood up from his seat, very alert and troubled. He always felt safe at the knowledge of Death being able to come to his side the second he called for It. "Can't you use your  _time Magic_  like how you did when we travelled to the Zombie dimension?"

"As much as I loathe admitting it, there are a handful of dimensions that my  _time Magic_ , as you called it, cannot intervene with – lest I destroy it unintentionally. The one I am heading to is one of them. Forgive me Master." Death Itself looked unwilling to part with him. That knowledge reassured him slightly.

He knew that he was being selfish by keeping Death here when It has a job It needed to do, but he was too dependent on the being. Without Death, he was afraid to even step out of his room, especially at the news that Voldemort found him. He didn't want It to go, but he has to be considerate as well.

Whilst his mind was in turmoil, Death's eyes softened. It stepped forward and ran a hand through his locks. He leaned into the being's touch and closed his eyes – savoring the feeling. Death was like a father and at the same time brother to him more than a servant. He felt this way about Voldemort back in his own parallel universe once upon a time. Not that he would reveal that to anyone.

"Why are you needed there, if I may ask?"

"There is an item in that dimension that could bring forth calamitous events. And before Master asks, I did, in fact, create an entity to govern the balance of souls – and paperwork – however It is unable to intervene with mortals. I would've attempted to pinch the item the second it was made, but the creator had no intentions of using it, so I left it be. Now that it has fallen into the hands of someone who could potentially bring the destruction of the whole dimension, I must retrieve it."

Marcaunon's eyes suddenly lit up with interest, much to Death's ever growing horror.

"I'm going to destroy it." It added in hastily.

That caused him to puff out his cheeks and pouted at the news. Death was like a mind reader. Was he that transparent?

"Why?" He whined, not at all behaving his physical or mental age.

"Because Master will use it to destroy the Zombie dimension of course."

"Why would I do such a thing?" He schooled his features into one of pure innocence, his eyes wide with childish naivety.

"So that Master could spend more time with little Lord – and lesser paperwork to be done." Death snorted, as if Its Master could fool It with those puppy dog eyes. It was immune to them.

"You mind reader!" He accused.

"Master's expression is similar to that of a child's to those as old as I am." Death stated dryly. "And do try to stop changing the subject. I know Master well enough to not be fooled like those useless mortals."

His mask dropped, leaving behind a face full of desperation.

"I… I don't want you to leave, but I know you have a job to do… I know that – but… but!" he tugged his hair harshly. He really was a selfish person.

Death could only pull him into a hug, which he fully returned. He breathed in Death's scent – the scent of blood, earth, and most of all, death. It was a familiar smell that always lolled him into sleep during his stay at the orphanage.

"Can't I come?" He asked in a tiny muffled voice that was very out of character of him, his face buried deep into Death's clothed chest. This was one of the times where he loved his lack of height.

"What of little Lord? Does Master expect little Lord to just sit idle whilst we wonder off without any form of explanation?"

"I could write a note–"

"He will be mad."

They both remained in each other's arms in silence. Marcaunon knew that his son could take care of himself, Marchosias was seventy seven after all, but he knew as well that his son would never forgive him if he were to suddenly drop out of radar.

"Take him with us." He said in a small voice, not noticing Death's triumphed smile. "We can take him with us."

Death unwrapped Its arms and led Its Master to the settee, before pulling Marcaunon on Its lap. It cupped his cheeks and they both stared into each other's eyes.

"Master will have to explain to little Lord how we are able to travel to different dimensions."

He faltered for a second, but regained his composure with a determined glint in his eyes.

"I'll think of something." He looked down for a few minutes, before looking up shyly at Death. "If it's alright with you. I would not want to get in your way of work."

"As if Master would ever get in my way." Death chuckled, Its emerald eyes gazing back at him fondly.

"I'll inform the Headmaster of our departure then. What is the estimated time for us to retrieve the item?"

"It could be up to a year."

He hummed in thought. Death has unintentionally presented him with the opportunity of running away from Voldemort – and he would take it without telling Death of course. The entity was sometimes a pain and has been telling him to face his fears, which he will at a later date. Just not… now.

"Excuse me whilst I talk to Dumbledore. Would you mind telling Chaos dear about our impromptu family vacation?" It won't take much to convince Dumbledore, but he needed to ensure his position in Hogwarts. He didn't want to be replaced after all. He loved it here… and teaching as well. "Oh and get Suki and Mana as well."

"Yes, my Master." Death kissed his forehead before they both separated.

_OOOO_

It entered Its Master's bedchambers, knowing that this would alert little Lord of Its presence. As expected, the deaged man stirred and awoken from his slumber as soon as Death's feet touched the ground on the other side of the door.

"Mort?" was said groggily as Marchosias rubbed his eyes with his fists. It was a cute sight, even to Death. It held in the urge to coo – It has dignity, unlike Its Master.

"Indeed, little Lord. Master has requested for you to get ready."

"What for, if I may ask? It's still…" He turned to the clock that was on the nightstand. "Early."

"We're transferring due to my occupation."

That snapped Marchosias out of his dazed state.

"Mother retired from being a Potions' Professor?" He asked worriedly, though his face remained indifferent.

"Master is on work leave, and since my occupation requires me elsewhere, Master decided to follow. Think of it as a family vacation, little Lord."

Suspicion entered the young ma–ahem, boy's ruby eyes. Marchosias was a genius, and Death did not doubt that. He must have known something was odd, seeing that Death could travel anywhere with Its mode of transportation.

"Does little Lord require assistance in bathing?" It hid a smirk behind Its hood, knowing that treating Marchosias like a little boy infuriated him – and would distract him.

As predicted, Marchosias glared and tossed a pillow at Death. Without much effort, It side stepped, hands relaxed inside his cloak's pockets. With a huff, Its Master's son jumped out of bed and into the bathroom.

It hummed a funeral march, a habit It had undoubtedly gained from Its Master, as It waited. Being immortal does wonders to one's patience level. Add in the fact that Marcaunon always threw a tantrum due to the amount of paperwork, Death became a  _very_  patient being.

When the bathroom door clicked opened, a freshly showered Marchosias stepped out. Death always wondered about the Gaunt family fashion sense. They all preferred dark colors and clothing that hug them as if second skin – though no skin apart from the face was shown. If It were a mortal, It would've already been tempted to ravish Its Master. Really, Marcaunon had no idea how tempting he dressed when not using a robe or cloak.

It shook Its head to clear Its thoughts and continued to study the boy. Marchosias wore a long sleeved turtleneck, form fitting trousers, a pair of band gloves, and uggs. All were in black. Almost absentmindedly, Death snapped Its fingers.

Marchosias startled before he glowered at his godfather, having noticed himself wearing another article of clothing atop his turtleneck; a light brown bear sleeveless hoodie, ears and tails included.

Death nodded to Itself. Master would've eventually put little Lord into a hoodie anyway. Better to do so now. It skillfully ignored the complaints coming from Its godson, and dragged the boy to Its Master's study – but not before scooping up the two terrified shrunken serpents and putting them inside Its pocket. It was lucky that Marcaunon made his son have the habit of wearing (enchanted) gloves – It did not want to accidently rot Its godson's hand after all. Master was annoying when it came to his son's welfare. Stupid son-complex parent. Death wouldn't want to be there when little Lord gained a partner.

"I don't need to be hand held like a little kid, Mort."

Death was excellent at being deaf when it came to things It didn't wish to do.

"… Don't ignore me!"

It wondered if It should pack some clothing for their vacation.

The door suddenly opened, revealing a smug looking Marcaunon. Probably has something to do with outsmarting Albus. Those kind of things always brought a smug smile on Marcaunon's lips – how simple minded. He looked at Marchosias hoodie and snorted, much to the boy's exasperation. Whilst Its Master was busy with teasing his son, Death observed what the adult Gaunt was wearing.

Marcaunon wore a long sleeved turtleneck, skinny jeans, band gloves, and his usual heeled combat boots – he has a height complex. All black. Death could not sense any glamours on Marcaunon, and thanks to Its Master's messy bird nest of a hair, the scar that was on his cheek was partially covered. It was glad that Marcaunon had finally decided to show Marchosias his scars – it meant that he was finally moving forward.

It might take a while for Its Master to heal his mental scars, but It knew that Marcaunon would eventually recover. And after that, It can finally rid those physically scars from Its Master's beautiful alabaster skin – especially the one at his neck. Marcaunon was  _Its Master_ , and It loathe how the scar was shaped like a collar.  _Nobody owned Death._ Those mortals back in Master's original universe did not have a chance of redemption, seeing that Death had eaten their souls right after they had died.

"You didn't explain it to him, Mort?" Marcaunon's exasperated voice brought It back from Its wondering (murderous) thoughts.

"Master's orders did not include that." It wanted Marcaunon to fully open his heart to Marchosias, and explaining about his MoD status was a big step, even if it would bring pain in the beginning.

After all, a lesson learnt without pain is meaningless, for one cannot gain anything without sacrificing something else in return, but once they have overcome it and made it their own… they will gain an irreplaceable heart in return. [1]

He looked at Death with an annoyed expression and sighed in resignation. The older Gaunt crouched so that his son was on eye level with him – Death inwardly snorted at that, knowing that without those boots, Marcaunon would be shorter when in that position.

"Chaos dear. The place that we will be heading to is somewhere very far and unreachable even to owls – I've already sent a letter to your friend Severus by the way." Marcaunon started with a soothing voice. Death nodded. So far so good. "We'll be heading to another dimension vastly different from ours."

…

..

.

Idiot Master! If Death were a lesser being, It would've facepalmed. What kind of explanation was that supposed to be!?

"Huh?" Was the smart reply from the genius  _child_.

"Now that I've already told Chaos dear where we're going, let's go!" Marcaunon pumped his fist into the air as he stood up.

Death sighed and shook Its head forlornly. Marcaunon may be an amazing person when it came to politics and teaching, but when it came down to his son? A failure. A total failure of a parent.

"Wait a damn minute!" Marchosias raised his voice. It amused Death since he was always level headed. "What do you mean by  _other_  dimension!?"

"Mort will open a portal for us to walk through it. We'll end up in another dimension. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe and we can come back after Mort is done with his job."

"What kind of job requires a person to go to another dimension!? No wait, that's not it! How can a person open up a rift between dimensions!? It's theoretically impossible."

"And Magic was supposed to be impossible to Parasites as well." Marcaunon chided. "There's nothing impossible when it comes down to Magic, just highly improbable. You should know better than that, Marchosias Gaunt."

Marchosias could only imitate a fish out of water – as if he could not believe that he was actually  _lectured_  about Magic by  _Marcaunon_  of all people. Death on the other hand, knew that this was all simply a distraction.

True to his thoughts, Marcaunon signaled for Death to open up a portal whilst Marchosias's brain was still fried. It sighed at Its Master's childishness (and need to prolong the inevitable) and poked the air in front of It. A portal soon opened and without another word, Death scooped the little Lord (ignoring the squeak) into Its arms and walked into his portal, Marcaunon following not far behind.

* * *

 _Date: Unknown_  
Location: Unknown  
Dimension: Unknown  
POV: Marcaunon

"GAAAAAAAAAH!" The three heard the moment they stepped out of Death's portal (Chaos still on Death's hip). He turned his head to the direction of the scream, wondering who the hell was screaming in this… tunnel…? Cave…?

He raised a brow at Death, who only shrugged and tightened Its hold on Chaos; who was demanding to be let down. Was this another  _error_ (yeah right) on Death's part? The place they were in was some kind of cave with a wide path, however the strange thing was the walls that were on either side of them. They were purple and looked like they were melted before. He resisted the urge to touch it – it might be poisonous and even if he were immune thanks to the basilisk venom currently running through his veins, Chaos didn't know. His son would definitely panic at his recklessness.

" _WHY DO WE HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS PLACE AGAIN!?"_  A voice shouted in Japanese. His ears twitched and he almost winced at how loud said voice was. It was male if his ears heard correctly – maybe a teenager?

" _Official my ass! It's exactly the same as before! ARE THEY PLAYING WITH US!?"_ The same voice shouted, filled with frustration and a hint of disbelieved annoyance.

" _Only Soul Reapers are able to use the Hell butterfly."_  An elderly male's voice deadpanned.  _"Stop complaining and run!"_

The voice got nearer to them and before their very eyes, a portal opened at the opposite side of the voice, near them. He could only blink, bewildered, whilst little Chaos stopped punching Death's chest in favor of staring at the newly opened portal.

" _Eh? Who are they? What the hell are they doing here?"_  The first voice said in confusion.

The three turned around and could only stare at how weirdly dressed those Parasi–… no, not Parasites. They had power. So Mortals then. They could only stare at the weirdly dressed Mortals, who were running to them as if their lives depended on it.

" _No idea, but look! We're almost at the exit!"_  The… cat yelled back. Well, he saw weirder things before than a talking feline, and perhaps in this dimension, talking cats were a norm.

When the group of teenagers (and cat) neared them, the orange haired teen grabbed ahold of Death by Its forearm (the one not carrying Chaos), and dragged It towards the exit, whilst a dark haired teen in white grabbed onto him. He looked over to Death, who only deadpanned as It  _flew_  after Its kidnapper. Seeing that Death had no complains, Marcaunon followed his servant's example.

They only had to run a few more seconds before they exited the portal. Everybody suddenly looked down when they felt no footing.

"Eh…?" The orange haired teen worded it nicely. It was probably on everyone's mind anyway.

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The group of Mortals screamed in panic as they all fell from mid-air, which the portal had opened at. Oh… Death would get an earful if It was the cause of this.

As he was debating on whether or not to just alter the gravity around them, he saw Chaos burying his face into Death's chest cutely. It distracted Marcaunon, who decided that cooing at his son's adorable behavior was better than saving them all.

The group was then suddenly engulfed by what felt like a huge blanket, and huddled tightly inside. It was severely uncomfortable (claustrophobic) and he hoped that nobody had had direct skin contact with Death. These Mortals were fascinating and he wanted to study their energy (and mind rape them).

" _What the hell is thiiiiiisss!?"_  He heard the orange haired teen exclaim, and this time, he did wince. Who the hell shouts into another person's ear!? With none the wiser, he kicked the teen's cheek, feeling loads better afterwards.  _"Gah! Who kicked me!?"_

" _Alright! Here it comes!"_  He heard a young child's voice from outside of their giant blanket ball, and could only groan as the Mortals yelled out their confusion.  _"Jinta… HOME RU– WAH!"_

" _Tessai Death Catch!"_

The blanket they were in suddenly kept going round and round and round, much to horror. He felt awfully green.

" _Urgh… I'm gunna throw up!"_  He heard someone murmur. Oh he hoped not.

The blanket like thingy was suddenly off of them, much to his relief, and Marcaunon could only blink at the change of scenery. Their limbs were currently entangled together atop a flying carpet, with a man with a green and white hat welcoming the Mortals back. This dimension just got a lot weirder.

* * *

_Date: 31 May 1967  
Location: Slytherin Manor_

An owl dropped a parchment atop a mahogany table, before it flew out of the opened window it had previously came from. On the parchment, a neatly yet hurriedly writing could be seen, clear as day – in green ink.

_Permission for a one year sick leave from work.  
Will already be gone once this note is sent._

_-Ignatius Rose  
P.S. I'm not running away, and will be back soon. Don't look for me._

* * *

**_Rainbows and Cookies,_ **   
**_GenderlessPerson_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] The quote is from FMA (Fullmetal Alchemist) by Hiromu Arakawa. I did tweak it a little though. I'm sure Marc's heart is not metal. Fuahahaha.
> 
> The only reason why I did not warn my readers that there will be Incest is due to the fact that it would spoil basically everything. You all should already know that Marc is originally Harry Potter, and Charlie, or Charlus, is his original grandfather. Meaning that he had been fucked by his own grandfather, and that that would make James, who was supposedly his father, now his nephew because Chaos is James's half-brother, and this makes Marc the stepmother/uncle of James… Not to mention that Voldemort is his second cousin, since their Gaunt grandfathers are siblings. Silk Roads is full of incestuous relationships so I do not blame you if you drop this story because some of you feel disgusted by family members having intercourse with one another. We all have different tastes after all. Once again, you have my sincere apologies for not giving you a head warning – it's all in the name of not spoiling my story. Now I can give warning though, since it's obvious.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an extra/omake just in case you haven't noticed. Takes place a few months after the Christmas Special. 
> 
> Gosh. My head and eyes hurt from the nonstop typing. Stupid selective memory – Y U NO remember Vday until the last possible moment!? Happy Valentine's Day guys.

**Chapter 19.5: Valentine's Day Special**

* * *

 

_Date: 14 February 1976  
Location: Hogwarts, Great Hall_

Excitable (irritating) audible whispers could be heard by him as he walked towards the Slytherin table at the Great Hall for breakfast. Today was the day he dreaded most during his Past and present school days; Valentines' Day – the day where he would be mobbed by endless numbers of chocolate giving students. And of course, those chocolates would be given (disposed) to Marcaunon at the end of the day.

He would often than not wonder about the stupidity of Muggles during this so called celebration that Dumbledore, the bumbling old fool, had brought forth into the Wizarding Community. After all, why would Muggles consider the date that Saint Valentine dies the  _day of love_? Was it because Valentine decided to write a farewell letter and sign it off with ' _Your Valentine'_? Did the Muggles think that it was  _cool_  and suddenly decided that 'oh, let us sign  _Your Valentine_  at the end of our cards and give it to the one we love as well? Just like the person who was sacrificed! Minus the sacrifice and death part of course'.

He mentally snorted at his own somewhat amusing train of thoughts as he took a seat near the Head table – this way he could observe (read: eavesdrop on) his Professors better.

His surrounding Housemates greeted him as he sat, and he returned in kind, his expression not once showing his great dislike for most of them. He was far too old to humor them or talk about quidditch (but he will if required), which he loathes by the way, seeing that he very much preferred flying without the aid of brooms. He would never risk his life riding those oversized giant twigs they called broomsticks. Not to mention how uncomfortable it was for men to actually ride those – brooms in this time were not as advance in their cushioning charms  _sadly_.

He took a piece of toast and spread butter on it mechanically as he continued his thoughts, a fake smile already permanently plastered onto his face as he listened to his Housemates' conversation with half a ear, replying only when appropriate. Marchosias didn't believe in true love, though Magical Creatures came close to that by definition – they have life or soul mates. He believed that Humans are far too greedy and envious to truly consider settling down with another – divorce and affairs existed after all. A human would only marry another for their fame, fortune, knowledge, benefits, body, genes, lineage or all he had previously stated. That was what he had concluded in his true childhood.

His younger counterpart sadly fell into all the categories he had listed – seeing that they were both one and the same. He somewhat understood Riddle's feelings for Marcaunon though, and if Marc were not his mother, he would've felt intrigued and wanted Marc to give birth to his heir as well. This was why he didn't want Riddle to court Marcaunon – his mother might get hurt since Riddle was only going to use him as a baby making machine (this was what he truly believed anyway since he himself would do so).

He sighed inaudibly as he shot a subtle glance at his mother. He idly wondered if mother had ever fallen in love before, and if he had, would he explain those feelings to Marchosias, who was unable to grasp the concept of true love between humans?

"E-excuse me, Gaunt?" A meek voice was heard behind him, and he looked over his shoulder with a small questioning smile.

"Is there anything I can help you with, Abbott?"

The Hufflepuff teen fidgeted for a few seconds before she straightened up and presented a red box to him, determination in her honey colored eyes. If she was not wearing the Hufflepuff scarf, he would've thought that Abbott was a Gryffindor.

"Please accept my gift for you."

"Thank you, Abbott." He stood up from his seat and accepted the gift with a kind smile. "They smell lovely." And indeed it did. He was sure that his mother would be delighted to eat such delicious smelling chocolates.

The dark blonde seventeen year old blushed and returned his smile, though it was genuine unlike his. She excused herself with a stutter, and made her way back to her House table, where a group of girls waited and congratulated her with a pat on the back.

He returned to his seat and subtly directed the flow of conversation away from his person. The rest of his Housemates' (where was Severus by the way?) chatter was tuned out as he continued to eat his breakfast. He hoped this day would end soon – his gut was squirming with bad feelings.

* * *

"Marvolo." He greeted with a small smile, although he was inwardly surprised as he spotted the politician relaxing on his recliner in his living area.

He has just finished breakfast and was on his way to the designed classroom to advice for his student's Extracurricular Activity, but then he noticed that he had left some of his materials back in his private chambers, so he headed back. Once he had entered his private chamber, ignoring the way Salazar had winked at him (it was disturbing), he had stumbled across Marvolo on his way to his study.

"A fine morning this is, isn't it, Marcaunon?" The man purred as he stood up from his seat.

"I suppose." The weather was indeed fine, albeit a little cooler.

"Would it be a bother to ask for your company this fine day?"

"I have work, Marvolo." An apologetic expression appeared on his face.

Marvolo only hummed nonchalantly as he stopped just a step away from Marcaunon. He sometimes had to wonder if his cousin didn't know the definition of personal space. Or perhaps this was how cousins normally treated one another? He didn't know, since he doubted that Dudley was a good example.

"Please?" was said as the Dark Lord tilted his head to the side cutely, a few strands of hair falling onto those sharp cheekbones in a seductive kind of manner.

He fought the urge to look anywhere but those exquisite crimson orbs. His heart was beating wildly, as if he had just finished running a marathon, and he inwardly groaned. He was suspicious of Marvolo, seeing that this problem always occurred when he was in the man's presence. Perhaps he had been cursed without his notice? He took a mental note to research on heart pounding curses.

"I can't simply leave without any prior notice." Hopefully that would be enough to make Marvolo return to wherever he came from. He loved his cousin dearly, really, but sometimes he hated him as well. Humans – if he still classified as one – were contradictive, he mused.

"Then will you be able to if  _Dumbledore_  is notified?" He ignored the way the Headmaster's name was spat out, already used to it.

"Yess. A week before the actual date –"

"I've already owled him." Marvolo smirked as he leaned closer, their breaths mingling. "He was reluctant – as expected since I was the one who contacted him – but I managed to obtain his  _permission_  for you to take the whole day off. Shall we now proceed?"

"I – uhm… that… Alright. I'll just, go fetch my coat." He answered awkwardly.

Just as he was about to swirl on the balls of his feet, a dark brown coat was draped onto his shoulders. Marvolo only raised a brow at him when he blinked owlishly. He sighed and murmured a thank you under his breath as he shrugged the coat on. He did not so much as to twitch when Marvolo wrapped his Hufflepuff scarf around his neck, already expecting it.

He was then led to his floo network, and just as Marvolo threw a handful of powder, he saw his adorable son saunter into their living area – probably just finished breakfast. His lips parted in preparation for him to greet Marchosias, but Marvolo only wrapped an arm around his waist and stepped into the fireplace, forcing him to move along.

He didn't notice the blood draining out of Marchosias face, nor the horror in those ruby eyes of his, as the two adult Gaunts disappeared in a flash of green.

_OOOO_

They stepped gracefully out of the floo with not even a single soot on their respective coats. He gave a questioning glance at Marvolo when he noticed that they were at the Leaky Cauldron. The arm around his waist tightened momentarily before it was removed by a smirking Marvolo, the usual air of confidence and charisma surrounding his person. His cousin didn't reply to his gaze, he only continued to guide Marcaunon with a hand placed on the small of his back, towards the apparation area.

Without so much as a warning, Marvolo apparated them to who knows where. The surrounding area they were in didn't clue him to their destination, it only made him all the more curious. Snow covered trees were the first thing he spotted, before his eyes landed on a frozen lake.

"Have you ever skated on ice before, Marcaunon?" His cousin questioned with a small smile. It was a rare sight that only Chaos and he had had the privilege to see.

"No." His sight returned to the lake, marveling at the sheer beauty nature had provided them with. This only made his resolve heightened and all the more determined to destroy those Parasites (and  _that_  person) – before they could destroy Magic and Mother Earth.

"I'll teach you. It's exhilarating."

"Did you bring ice skates as well?"

Marvolo only chuckled, as if Marcaunon had asked something obvious.

"We are Wizards, my dear." His cousin took out his Yew Wand, the twin to Chaos's, and flicked it at their boots, which turned into a pair of dark ice skates. "And I'm a master at transfiguration if I do say so myself."

Marcaunon's response was for his arms to shot out and grasp his cousin tightly, who was busy with looking at him in mirth, to find his balance. It had been quite a long time since anybody saw how ungraceful he was being right now. He swore his cheeks were red with embarrassment rather than the cold.

"A little warning would do wonders next time." He murmured grumpily.

"Don't worry, dear cousin. You'll get used to it, and you won't fall so long as I'm around."

"I almost fell though." He pointed out with a scowl.

"I'll always be there to catch you." The following words were whispered into his ears, making him shiver from the hot air. "No matter what. Trust me."

Marvolo then proceeded to pull him onto the iced lake. He wobbled and tightened his hold on his cousin, not at all minding their closeness – he relished in the body heat actually, it was bloody cold. He didn't want to fall on his bum, it was beneath him to do so.

His balancing pole suddenly disappeared and he flailed for a moment before his hands were grabbed. He shot the chuckling man a glare (pout).

"I don't understand why I have to learn how to skate on ice. It's not as if I'll continue to skate in the future." He huffed as he continued to balance whilst his cousin in front of him glided slowly backwards.

"Now, don't say that." His cousin crooned. "It's relaxing – and I plan on inviting you to skate with me every year. Be sure to keep February 14th a free day from now onwards, alright?"

"Do I have a choice?" He deadpanned at the innocent expression on the taller Wizard's face.

"Not really, no." Marvolo smirked, still gliding on the ice gracefully unlike Marcaunon, who almost tripped on air.

They continued on silently, both enjoying each other's company whilst they glided slowly on the ice. He was getting used to the balance, and as he looked up from the ground (he was too worried about tripping to really look ahead), he almost lost his balance due to the soft smile playing on Marvolo's lips. It was a breath taking sight, even more so than the lake's scenery, and he wondered what kind of thoughts were inside his cousin's ever working mind.

Was ice skating with him really that enjoyable? For Marvolo to actually smile without any form of malice or amusement? Deep within the corners in his mind, he dearly hoped so.

"Looks like you're getting used to this."

He only hummed in agreement, his eyes not once breaking contact with the person in front of him.

Marvolo's fingers on his hands loosened, and he took that as a sign for him to try and skate on his own. He dropped his hands and propelled himself slightly forward, feeling gleeful that he didn't humiliate himself by faceplanting. If he did, he would've undoubtedly apparated away within a split second.

"You're doing well." Marvolo complimented. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Are you?" He countered as he tentatively brought his other leg forward.

His balance wavered and he flailed his arms around. Just before he could actually fall, an arm wrapped around his waist.

"I am. Immensely." The breath of hot air tickled his cheek as his cousin brought him closer to the Dark Wizard's chest.

His face flushed, and he looked away from those intense crimson orbs.

"I-I'm getting thirsty though." He stuttered out, eyes roaming anywhere but on the person holding him.

"Hot chocolate?"

"If it's no trouble." Sadly, the flask bangle that Chaos had given him was accidently left behind at Hogwarts.

"None at all. We'll continue skating afterwards."

They both glided to the edge of the lake, and just as they reached, their skates returned to their original state of boots. Marvolo then pulled out something from his pockets, and dropped it onto the snowy ground. Right before his very eyes, a light blue picnic blanket resized along with a picnic basket, two thermo flasks, and seat cushions.

He was ushered onto the blanket, and they sat down on their respective cushions, side by side, leaning against each other. He idly wondered if using a heating charm would be more convenient, but pushed that aside when the basket opened and revealed chocoly goodness.

He could feel himself salivate at the sight, and he gulped discreetly as Marvolo slowly brought out all the different kinds of chocolate cakes onto the blanket. A fork and plate was given to him, before his cousin – bless the man's soul – plopped a slice of cake onto it.

"Chocolate cheesecake." Marvolo pointed out.

As soon as his cousin had served himself (he had manners after all), Marcaunon forked out a chunk from his slice and plunged it into his mouth. He almost melted at the taste, moaning at how sweet it was. Oh how he thanked Circe – or Death actually – that he could never be subjected to natural illnesses such as diabetes.

Just as he took his last bite, another set of cakes was set onto his plate. He thanked his cousin with a smile.

"Molten chocolate cake. Would you like some hot chocolate, or coffee?"

The pattern continued as they ate and conversed. When all the cakes were cleared, with him eating majority of them and Marvolo only watching him, they fell silent. It wasn't awkward, far from it actually. He enjoyed their outing and grinned at the prospect of doing this every year. But… Why at the 14th specifically?

* * *

"Why are we here again?" Marcaunon mumbled sulkily as he was pulled towards the Parasite wooden square building in front of them by their interlocked hands.

"For relaxation purposes." Marvolo stated calmly for the  _nth_  time, not once losing his composure.

"But why  _here_ specifically  _–_ of all the places you could choose from?" He protested (whined), his nose scrunched up at the very idea of being near those waste of spaces.

His lips curled as Marvolo ignored him in favor of pushing the wooden door open. There were a few rows of lockers lined up inside, and Marvolo pulled him to the closest. He looked over the taller's shoulder and sighed inaudibly at the towels provided.

Without prompt, he started undressing. Why he had agreed to follow Marvolo to a traditional Finnish sauna – for  _relaxation purposes,_  he says – that was located near Parasite territory was beyond him. The git even convinced him to remove all his glamours back at the lake. Stupid persuasive Slytherin.

He startled when fingers brushed the scar on his bareback.

"Marvolo?" He paused, only half way unbuttoning his trousers, and looked over his shoulder. Marvolo's eyes were unreadable as those spidery fingers trailed down his back.

"When will you finally allow that servant of yours to rid your body of these scars?" Marvolo finally said after a minute of silence.

He sighed. This wasn't the first time Marvolo had asked. He turned around with his arms crossed, an annoyed expression on his face.

"You were the one who told me to drop my glamours." He disliked dropping them since this conversation would undoubtedly start.

"Forgive me, Marcaunon." Marvolo whispered as he stepped forward, eyes never once leaving Marcaunon's chest. "But it pains me to –"

"I know." He interrupted with a resigned sigh. "Perhaps it's best if we return ho –"

Marvolo's eyes sharpened.

"I apologize for bringing it up, but since we are already here, we might as well enjoy ourselves." With that, Marvolo shrugged off his coat.

They both stripped, leaving only a towel tied loosely around their hips. Marcaunon averted his eyes from looking at his cousin's toned body, a little self-conscious of his small frame and scarred body. Marvolo was the exact opposite of him; broad shoulders, toned yet not overly muscular body, and smooth skin without any form of blemish.

They entered the sauna room, the heat already doing wonders to his slowly unwinding muscles. There were several male and female Parasites lounging around the wooden benches, with towels wrapped around their hips and bodies respectively. His nose scrunched up automatically and he fought the urge to make a bloody mess out of them – quite literally he might add.

"I've already set up an anti-Muggle ward around the perimeter. They'll be leaving in less than five minutes – I'm sure you can tolerate them for a while longer." Was whispered into his ear as Marvolo pulled him towards the bench that was furthest away from the Parasites.

How merciful of his cousin. Perhaps Marvolo was refraining from killing the Parasites because they were kind of on holiday? He shrugged and crossed his right leg over his other. True to his cousin's words, the Parasites gradually began to lessen, their eyes dazed from the wards placed by Marvolo.

When the final one finally left, his tension left with them, leaving his shoulders feeling lighter as he leaned against the wooden walls. A wave of his hand later and a bucket of water was dumped into the hot sauna stones, making them produce more steam.

They sat there silently for a little longer enjoying the steam on their skin, before Marvolo cupped his cheeks and turned him towards the taller male. He raised a questioning brow, wholly ignoring the flip flops his stomach was busy doing.

The man's thumb rubbed circles across his cheeks, and his eyes fluttered close at the sensation.

"It's been awhile since we last saw each other." The whisper made him snap his eyes open. He almost recoiled at the face only centimeters apart from his. Almost. He did go cross eye for a split second though.

"What've you been up to?" He asked softly, not wanting to break the mood(?) they were in.

"This and that." Marvolo's body shuffled closer. "And you, Marcaunon dear?"

"Just the usual."

"Really?"

"Ye –" he was cut off when soft lips pressed against his.

He froze, not really knowing (and understanding) what to do as his  _cousin's_ lips left his. He saw something flicker into Marvolo's eyes, but it was gone before he could decipher the emotion. Marvolo smiled apologetically and tucked a few of Marcaunon's hair strands behind his ears, apologizing for startling him and explaining that family would often show their affection by kissing one another.

His shoulders relaxed and he returned the smile, absently saying that Chaos would often kiss him on the cheek rather than his lips when his son was younger – but in the back of his mind, he noted that he was feeling disappointment. Why he was disappointed, he didn't know.

_OOOO_

They both left the sauna after twenty minutes, and cooled down by taking a shower at the provided shower stalls. After they have donned on their clothing, Marvolo held out a hand to him.

"Where are we going next?" He asked curiously.

"One of my followers recommended a restaurant, but I have a better idea."

"Was it Abraxas?" He held onto the presented hand.

"You know my followers well."

"More like slaves."

"Now, that was rude of you. Just because they act as such does not make them a slave." Marvolo chided, though he was smirking cruelly. "I may be a tyrant, but I have a good heart."

He snorted in disbelief. If Marvolo has a good heart, Grindelwald wouldn't be living in Nurmengard right now.

"Alright, enough delaying. I'm sure you're hungry."

"Famished actually."

They both disappeared with a soft, almost inaudible crack.

_OOOO_

They reappeared at a snowy meadow, a picnic blanket already prepared along with a basket, wine bottle and two wineglasses. He blinked. They were having another picnic? He idly wondered why Marvolo was acting so out of character today.

The moment he stepped onto the blanket, he felt heat seeping into his boots. Ah, a warming charm to keep them cool. A wonderful idea, seeing that it was almost nightfall. They both settled near each other, similar to before when they were near the frozen lake, and the taller Wizard took out two empty plates.

The smell of delicious food wafted out from the opened basket, and Marvolo flicked his Yew wand, making all the food lay out by themselves, and the wine to pour itself into their respective glasses.

"Cheers." Marvolo raised his wineglass.

"Cheers." He smiled and lightly tapped his own wineglass against his cousin's.

He took a sip and hummed at the sweet taste. It was to his liking. As he set aside his glass, three floating Oyster Rockefellers landed inside his empty plate. Seeing that Marvolo was already preparing to eat the ones on his plate, he did the same.

"It's good." He commented as he made a grab for another shell. "Although it doesn't taste like the ones your houseelves made."

"That's because they were not the ones who cooked for this occasion." Marvolo answered with a smug smile.

"Oh? Let me guess, you did?" He replied sarcastically, a playful grin on his face.

"Indeed."

The fork that was halfway to his mouth paused in its journey.

"Really?" He looked at Marvolo skeptically.

"Have I ever lied to you, my dear?"

"Well excuse me for being so skeptical. You were the one who said that cooking is only done by servants." He huffed and shoved the oyster into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. It really was brilliantly done.

"It is." Before he could open his mouth to speak, Marvolo continued. "However if it's for you, I'll do anything."

He could feel his blood rushing to his cheeks, and he quickly shoved the last oyster into his mouth as a distraction. Marvolo only gave him a knowing look, much to his irritation. Before he could make his irritation known, a small bowl of Shrimp Bisque floated towards him. He grabbed said bowl and the soup spoon beside of it

He took a spoonful and was amazed at the taste. If Marvolo knew how to cook, did Chaos know as well? He made a mental note to ask his son once he returned to Hogwarts, before he continued eating his soup.

"It's really a surprise, a very pleasant surprise, that you know how to cook."

"And you don't? Such a skilled Potions' Master like yourself would hardly have a difficult time in the kitchen. It's somewhat similar to Potions' making after all."

"Only simple dishes, dear cousin. Nothing as spectacular as yours. When and why did you learn how to cook, if I may ask?"

"As you should know, I travelled a lot in my younger days –"

"You're still young."

"– I prefer having to cook my own meals than to spend money eating out – seeing that I am not as rich as I am currently." He continued as if Marcaunon never interrupted.

Once they both finished their soup, a plate of Filet Mignon topped with blue cheese floated towards them. He absently grabbed the plate, knife and fork included, before raising a brow at Marvolo.

"You have expensive tastes."

"Says the person who spends at least a hundred galleons on candies and chocolates alone per month."

"Touché."

They continued their light conversation as they cut into their respective meats. He took note of how tender it was, and almost moaned at the taste – it was that great. If he were a lesser man, he would've just gobbled it all in one bite.

As they were half way through their meal, Marcaunon paused and turned to stare at the sky, where the sun was already halfway down the horizon, basking them both in its afterglow. The area they were in looked surreal as the sun temporarily dyed the snow orange. All in all, it was a beautiful and breathtaking sight – he even had to breathe out a small exclamation of awe. He wouldn't mind watching the sunset whilst having a picnic with his cousin again, next time they would have to include Chaos and Death, so they could have a family outing.

A few floating candles suddenly appeared around them. It made him smile at his cousin's thoughtfulness.

"This area is perfect for stargazing." Marvolo commented indifferently, but Marcaunon could read the hidden question;  _will you stay and stargaze with me?_

It made him smile fondly at the Dark Lord. So different, yet so alike to his son. He silently swore that he would never allow  _Harry Potter_  to vanquish Voldemort at this alternate universe, and if the fake Harry somehow did, Marcaunon will bring his cousin back – sanity intact of course.

"I'll take your word for it, dear cousin."

* * *

_Location: Hogwarts, Library, Corner_

He chewed on his bottom lip, not even noticing how bruised it already was due to the vexation and resentment he was currently feeling. How dare that brat actually take his mother on a date! On Valentine's Day no less! How dare his younger counter part celebrate such an occasion! How dare he! How fucking dare he! A Muggle occasion!

He gritted his teeth and buried his face within the folds of his arms that were resting on the tabletop. He hated this feeling of uncontrollable anger that was radiating within his blood. He had once lost himself in mindless rage, and it scared him. He didn't want to lose himself.

It was all that brat's fault! If only Riddle had not taken an interest in his mother. If only he had killed Riddle the moment he had found out about his counterpart. If only Riddle had never been born into this world! If only that, everything would've gone on perfectly! He would've had a perfect mother, a perfect father-figure, a perfect life, a perfect everything! But no, Riddle just had to ruin everything by being  _alive_!

" _ **I won't be second. I won't allow you to take my place!"**_ He whispered to himself.

He stood up from his seat, not caring that some of the books had been toppled by his movements. If anybody were near him, they would've undoubtedly fled the moment they saw his expression. An expression of pure, vindictive  _hatred_  that made his eyes glow bright malicious crimson.

He had never been so resentful in his life. Not even for Harry Potter. Was this because he didn't want to lose the only man that has ever truly cared for him?

" _ **Tom Marvolo Riddle."**_  His voice was soft, dark and forbidding.  _ **"I'll kill you. So very slowly that you'll be begging for death."**_

_OOOO_

His episode at the library had gone unnoticed and unseen, much to his relief. It took him a few hours to control his inferno of emotions, but thanks to his occlumency training, he managed. Barely, but he did.

On his way to the courtyard, he was stopped a few times by many of his peers, both girls and guys alike, and presented boxes of chocolates for both him and his mother. He had plastered a caring smile and thanked them all, not once saying that he'll eat them, only smiling and letting them think otherwise on their own accord – he disliked lying, even to his enemies.

When he was finally alone, he dropped his mask and sighed. Thank Merlin for shrinking charms. Otherwise his arms would be full of chocolate boxes right now.

"Marchosias?" The familiar drawl came from behind him.

The mask he had earlier discarded came back in full force as he turned around.

"A fine afternoon, isn't it, Severus?"

"Indeed. I have not seen your father around… I would think that Professor Gaunt would gleefully be present at the prospect of free chocolates, or in his words, chocoly goodness."

"He's out." He unintentionally sneered, the feelings of resentment making itself known for a second. He hastily blanked his features and took a deep calming breath. Severus only raised a brow, not at all commenting on his lack of control – the future Potions' Master knew him since his body was that of a child's after all.

"Judging by your mood… Your uncle must've stolen him."

"Brilliant deduction, Severus! It's no wonder you're called a child genius." He scoffed, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

"Such a wonderful friend I am to bear the brunt of your unjustified anger towards my person without even the slightest feeling of upset."

He raked a hand through his hair and sighed, an apologetic expression on his face.

"Forgive me, Severus. You know how I am when uncle  _dearest_  decides to drop by unannounced and clearly uninvited."

"You need not apologize, Marchosias." Severus waved off his apology. "I have to wonder why the only time that man becomes such an annoyance is when in your very presence. The only reason I can come up with is that he just loathes your very being."

"The feeling's quite mutual." He stated drily. "Anyway, why are you here? I know you well enough to know your preference of being in the dungeons rather than the open."

Severus suddenly threw him a small package wrapped in paper, which he caught with one hand. He raised a brow at the green wrapping, and as he raised his gaze to question his childhood friend, Severus has already stridden off to wherever cave he came from.

With the curiosity of a child's, he unwrapped the gift and blinked owlish at the contents.

"My… How kind of you, Severus." He chuckled as he slipped a dark chocolate past his lips, humming at the flavor. It wasn't sweet (it was near bitter actually), but it was exactly how he liked his chocolate to be. He wasn't his mother after all.

With a lighter heart, he headed back to the library, intending to actually finish his class assignments there.

* * *

**_Your Valentine's,_ **   
**_GenderlessPerson_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't expect another lemony chapter from me anytime soon. I really, really, really, can't write more of this for now – did you see how sappy some lines are!? Lemons are hard to write! I mean, I suck at romance and only want anime people to be my lovers. You can just imagine how sad my love life is.
> 
> Alright. The ending just wrote itself. I swear I didn't mean to make Chaos lose it. My fingers… They have a life of its own! And perhaps it's because I subconsciously needed some darker moments to replace the light heartedness. Gehehehe?


	22. Chapter 22

A scream of rage was heard all throughout the entire manor, making a blonde, pompous wizard falter in his tracks, but continued nonetheless until he arrived just in front of a pair of magnificent double doors. The blonde’s aristocratic features twisted into one of fear for only a split second before he managed to reign in his emotions. His hesitance of making his presence known to his Master was justified, seeing that the scream he had just heard had _came_ from said Master, who, he might add, was a master in controlling his emotions. Whatever set off his Lord was definitely something grand.

Just as he finally gathered all of his courage to knock, the double doors opened, revealing a pale man with furious crimson eyes sitting behind his desk. The blonde unconsciously took a step back at his Master’s malicious expression.

“Abraxas.” The Adonis in front of the blonde – Abraxas – hissed, his voice sharp and cold.

“My Lord.” He bowed down to his waist. Malfoy pride be damned. He would rather discard it to live another day. He still has an heir to teach, and a son to love.

“Ease yourself and enter.”

He did just that, standing at attention with his hands firmly behind of him, in front of his Master’s mahogany desk.

They were both silent, with him avoiding his Master’s eyes due to respect – and perhaps afraid to see the murderous expression aimed at him.

“Well?” Tom Riddle, or better known as Lord Voldemort to his followers, demanded. “Explain your presence and make it quick. I tire of waiting. Be very careful of what you may report though… I confess myself – vexed.” Voldemort ended with an unspoken promise of pain.

“I apologize for coming here unannounced, my Lord, but I bear good news – one is that the latest bill has been approved of.”

Voldemort’s beautiful eyes (that he had always secretly compared to rubies) turned to him, and he almost melted at the attention he was given. It was no secret to his fellow Inner Circle members about his infatuation with their Lord.

“Excellent. You’ve done well, Abraxas. Were there any complications?” Abraxas replied in negative, which made His Lord’s expression of fury morphed into one of elation. “Lord Voldemort rewards those who accomplish their given tasks. What is your desire, Abraxas?”

“Thank you, my Lord. You are far too generous.” He bowed with his right arm across his chest, before he straightened his spine. “Your contentment is my only desire, my Lord, however if I may… What ails you so, my Lord, my Master?”

Voldemort made no show of what he was currently feeling, his face eerily similar to that of a beautiful sculpture, and Abraxas instantly regretted his choice of reward – he felt that he had overstepped his bounds. Why had he brought up the reason for his Master’s rage!? Oh self-preservation, where have you fled to? Why was his curiosity much higher than his desire?

“Very well.” That made Abraxas almost release a sigh of relief. Almost. Malfoys do not _sigh_. “Seeing that you have yet to fail me so, I shall settle your curiosity. One of my followers have decided to take a vacation with only a note, not even a letter, as a way to inform me of his abrupt departure.”

He could feel sweat trailing down his back at the sheer fury his Lord was emitting. Whoever the person was, he was in a whole level of trouble. One does not simply leave in that way without obtaining their Lord’s ire. He was hesitant in calling for his Master’s attention, one part of him not wanting his Master’s wrath to be directed back at him, whilst the other part wanted those beautiful crimson orbs to be focused _solely_ upon him. Preferably whilst he was writhing in pleasure beneath his Lor–

Without so much of a warning, the Lord of Slytherin’s Magic lashed out, making a pleasurable shiver run down his spin. What magnificent power.

“You speak of having more than one good news, Abraxas?”  

“Yes, my Lord – I apologize for the delay I have caused. I have stumbled across a few sealed memories from my son. I was curious, and I admit, furious at who had dared enter my son’s mind.” He could see that his Lord was impatient, and was quick to get to the point. “With my level of skill, I was able to remove the seal, however I came upon a sharp realization afterwards. My memories as well have been tempered with, and it was from the very same person that has sealed some of my son’s memories.”

“I do not see the good news in this, Abraxas.” Voldemort stood, easily towering over him, the anger on his Lord’s face for all to see. “The only thing I see is that this man could have easily taken any information in your and your son’s mind. Information regarding me, and everything that I have tasked upon my followers – valuable information, Abraxas Malfoy.”

He bowed his head, knowing that this was a risk he was taking. But the reward… Yes, he knew that the reward would tower over the risk. “I have taken upon myself to see a trusted mind healer, my Lord. She has deemed my memories only been tampered with – not an ounce of information has been forcefully taken from my head.”

His Lord stared silently for a minute, before reseating himself and gestured for Abraxas to continue. Clearly the beauty was displeased, but at least Abraxas has taken safety measures before reporting.

“The man who has tempered with our minds is” He hesitated slightly before he continued. “Marcaunon Gaunt, my Lord.”

Voldemort immediately sat up straight, crimson eyes bright as he leaned forward almost eagerly. “Tell me, dear Abraxas, what kind of seal and its effects?”

“The opposite of Forget-Me-Not seal, my Lord. The term is that once my son leaves Hogwarts’ ground, he will forget anything in relation to Marcaunon and Marchosias Gaunt. I found this suspicious, and after an investigation, found out some interesting things. Professor Gaunt placed a spell on all the students and some teachers, to forget about him and his son upon leaving Hogwarts.”

“Interessting… Sso he hid the ssame way I did. But why, iss the question?” His Master hissed lowly to himself, before he continued in a louder voice. “And you? What of the memories he tempered with?”

“It was basically the same, my Lord.” He frowned lightly at the reminder. “Once he has left my sight, I would conveniently forget about his existence until someone has mentioned him, or that he makes an appearance.”

“Left your sight?” He was oblivious to the dangerous, borderline jealousy, tone of his Lord. “Do you see him often?”

“My wife is a colleague of his, my Lord. She sometimes invites him over for dinner in our manor.”

“I will assume that she had the same seal as the both of you.”

“Indeed she did, my Lord.”

The study was silent for a few moments. Voldemort’s smirk almost melted Abraxas’s insides. The man was _that_ good looking. “I am sure you are able to have the both of us over for dinner on the same night, isn’t that right, Abraxas?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“What other thingss did you find out about the two Gauntss, Abraxass?”

The way his Master had drawn out the S’s made Abraxas’s lower region stir with want. He was quick to push the images out of his mind, not wanting his Lord to see – Voldemort was a master legilimens, and it was considered disrespect to think of his Lord in _that_ way. Not that he cared when in the confines of his home.

“Marcaunon Gaunt, Pureblooded orphan, and is 23 this year. He is a Potions’ Master working at Hogwarts.” He took out a photo from within his robes and placed it gently atop his Master’s desk. “He is well liked by the students, disregarding which House they came from – a very popular Professor, and is Slytherin’s Head of House. He used to be in _Hufflepuff_ , and has always been the top student of his year. He received ten Outstandings for both OWL and NEWTs, and is considered the youngest Potions’ Master in all of history. It is said that his skills could be on par with the famous Ignatius Rose.”

Frankly, it was amazing for a person to even achieve five Outstandings. To actually have gotten ten was simply incredible – and he only recalled two other graduates that had achieve more or less the same result. He was about to speak of Rose’s achievements, however the moment he spoke of the name Ignatius Rose, his Lord grew irritated, so he was quick to continue his report.

“Marcaunon Gaunt is close with Pomona Sprout and Albus Dumbledore – my informant has even said that Dumbledore actually favored him more than even McGonagall. There are even rumors that he would soon be the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts. He has a son named Marchosias and is six, going seven years old.”

He was disgusted at the fact that this Professor had had impregnate a lady at the tender age of sixteen. Magicals have spells to prevent pregnancy, and if they were too lazy to do some standard anti-pregnancy charms, they should not have had intercourse at all. A disgrace to Purebloods he would be if not for his amazing academic results and career. However, Abraxas was unable to deny the attraction he felt due to how beautiful the man was. The man that looked eerily identical to his Lord, only more feminine. They could be brothers, if he did not know that both his Lord and Marcaunon Gaunt were orphans.

“Do you have a photo of the boy – Marchosias, as well?”

He dutifully placed a photo of said boy being carried by his father, the two smiling (well, Marcaunon was, Marchosias only had a small tilt of his lips) at the camera, next to the previous photo.

“Do you have any more information regarding them, Abraxas?”

“No, my Lord.”

“I am very much pleased with this news you brought, Abraxas. Tell me – what is your wish? I will reward you handsomely.”

“If I may, my lord…”

“Speak your mind.”

He shifted, a little nervous.

“I would like the honors of warming your bed, my Lord.”

The room fell into silence, and he suddenly regretted asking. His self-preservation really had left him. Hopefully, not for good.

“Is that all?” He could only nod, his eyes looking anywhere but Voldemort. “Very well. Step closer, Abraxas.”

His head snapped up and his breath was caught in his throat. His ex-classmate, his crush, his Lord, had begun to disrobe. Abraxas was quick to move, and would deny all if they said he was practically running.

The wards around the study glowed for a brief moment, and just as they dimmed down, the voices from within stayed within. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mother's day Special

_Date: 10 May 1977  
Location: Hogwarts _

The day begun like any other this week – with Marcaunon bent over his desk, scribbling and muttering about the bane of all existence; paperwork. When the door to his study slammed opened, he, with blurry eyes, looked up.

He did not expect to see Death, in all of Its cloaked glory, to be staring back at him with intense emerald eyes. He was about to question his servant, but just as his lips parted, Death disappeared, only to reappear in front of him.

He did not squeak. Really.

Unexpectedly, Death grabbed his hand and the two disappeared from his office. He was disorientated and confused the second they landed, and had to hold onto Death to gain his bearings. As soon as he did, however, he glared, his scarlet eyes became crimson in anger as he eyed his longtime companion.

“What the bloody hell just happened, Death?” He hissed, his tone calm yet threatening.

Death only grinned, not at all caring that It was _this_ close to being castrated.

“That, my Master, is called apparition. I’m sure one of these days you’ll be able to apparate as well as I did.”

“As a matter of fact, I already know how to apparate, you sorry excuse of a servant. But thank you for your oh so brilliant explanation. Now tell me, why have you apparated me to… Where the hell are we anyway?”

“My realm.”

“… You renovated your office?” He raised a brow at the innocent looking teddy bear sitting innocently on one of the many shelves. It would not do to underestimate the things within Death’s office. That teddy bear might be a tool for creating a weapon of mass destruction.

“What splendid observation skills you have, my Master!” Death clapped his hands mockingly, and if Marcaunon did not know the being well enough, would’ve thought that the entity disliked him. But alas, It was genuinely amused at how he was stating the obvious. Damn ancient arsehole.

“Thanks.” He stated dryly, already used to Death’s playful (disturbing) attitude. “Now, will you tell me the reason as to why you have brought me here?” Marcaunon asked as he glanced around the… overly bright office. The walls were bright orange, for Morgana’s sake. It was an eyesore of a color.

Death’s grin widened, if that was possible, and suddenly melted out of existence. He only stared at the spot where Death used to be, before he rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. That git actually left him here! With no way out! The only one possible to open the gateway to Death’s realm was Death himself, and not even the Master of Death could. He could transport another person, or himself, to another realm though. But he refrained from doing that – Death’s minions were weird.

He sighed, a little irritated at being left behind, before he sat on Death’s comfortable office chair. Well, since he had nothing to do, why not just relax? It was better than doing paperwork on a weekend. Actually, Chaos should be up soon… and his son would probably wonder where the heck he was, seeing that they had agreed on eating out this particular day.

He could only hope that his son woke up in a good mood. He did not need, or want, a repeated occurrence on what had happened the last time he had broken his promise. Marcaunon shivered slightly. How the hell did he raise his son to be such a sadist, he would never know. He just pushed it as Voldemort’s influence.

As he settled himself comfortably, he entirely missed how a person – soul actually, seeing that only souls could be here, disregarding him – appeared. He only realized that he was not alone in this office the second someone had cleared their throat to gain his attention.

And gain them they did.

He snapped his head to the direction and could only stare at the soul, his mind unable to process why the hell this particular soul was here, of all places. Normally, the only souls to be brought here were the damned. Or those that could not be sorted due to how high their negative points were.

“Harry?” The soul of Lily Potter spoke unsurely. He could not blame her for her hesitance. He looked nothing like her son, after all.

“Marcaunon Gaunt, at your service, Lady Potter.” He stood up and bowed slightly. When he straightened up, the person he no longer considered to be his mother looked more anxious – her green eyes were clouded with fear.

“G-gaunt? Are you related to T-t-tom Riddle?” She stuttered out the true name of Voldemort.

“I doubt it.” Marcaunon Gaunt was only related to Tom Riddle in this universe. His universe’s Lily Potter was still alive, and too young to look thirty something, so he had to assume that this Lily was from an alternate universe.

She relaxed slightly, but still looked tensed and ready for battle. Her fingers, he observed, were twitching for a wand that was not on her. Oh, did he forget to mention? Souls here were naked as the day they were born. So, yeah. Luckily he cared not about looking at a woman’s nude body, but it would’ve been awkward if he still considered this particular soul his mother.

“So, why were you sent here?” He sat down and crossed his right leg over the other, looking like a bad arse king, if he did say so himself.

Her facial expression changed from confusion to realization, and confusion once more.

“I… I don’t know.” She scrunched up her nose. “I remember being hit by the severing curse… and dying…” She swallowed here. Hard. Before she released a shuddering breath and continued. “I remember a cloaked person guiding me to a train station – similar to platform 9 ¾ actually – and… oh god… I’m dead! And my clothes! Oh god!”

She was hysteric now, as if she had only just realized she was dead – and naked. It made Marcaunon roll his eyes, inward of course. It would not do to be caught rolling his eyes – especially not by Death, who would tell his son, who would lecture him about how inelegant it was. That, he would definitely gain a headache from.

“Yes.” He cut through her random bubbling, his voice sharp and commanding. “You are dead, Lily Potter. I dislike repeating myself, but I shall do so since I am in a good mood; why were you sent here? Only those that have done many evil deeds are to be brought here.”

“Y-you are… Death?” She stared at him fearfully, and shifted slightly backwards, her arms and hands trying to cover up her woman bits.

“What do you think, mortal?” He smiled, showing off his sharpened canines. “Will you answer my question, or will we continue having a discussion about my identity?”

“S-sorry. I don’t know. I really don’t know!”

He sighed inaudibly under his breath. How troublesome. What would Death gain by bringing her here? He narrowed his eyes a little, unknowingly making Lily Potter’s breath hitch at how similar he looked to a certain Dark Lord in her universe.

“Don’t you have a son?”

Instantaneously, Lily Potter’s meek disposition changed, and she snarled at him fiercely. It made him blink owlish at her rather 180 attitude.

“Leave him alone! It is not his time yet, and if I have anything to do with it, won’t be anytime soon!”

His heart sped up slightly, and he touched his chest lightly. He frowned in confusion at the unknown emotion he was feeling. He shrugged the emotion away and smirked at her, wanting to agitate her more. Perhaps his mood would improve upon the misery of others?

“But why?” He gave her an innocent smile. “He’s the child of prophecy isn’t he? I would love to meet him! Besides, he could help you remember.”

“So what if he’s the child of prophecy!? I shan’t allow you to touch him! Bringing him here will do you no good.”

Marcaunon tilted his head to the side curiously. “Why are you so willing to give your life up for him? Do you not fear death, little girl?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, before she straightened her back, her eyes never leaving his. The words that came out of her mouth were so full of love and determination, that Marcaunon knew he believed her.

“Because he is my son, and I love him. I’ll do anything for him, and if I have to die for him to live, then I will welcome death with open arms.”

“Are all Lilys like this?” He murmured to himself, and for once, thought back to his own mother, who had gave up her life for him. He closed his eyes, and suddenly, wanted to meet his mother. Would the Lily Potter from his original universe love him? Even though he had become so corrupt?

“Before you go,” He started, his eyes still closed, thus missing Lily’s startled look at being addressed after a period of silence. “will you answer a question of mine?”

She hesitated, but nodded her head. When he noticed that he could not see her due to his eyes being closed, she gave an affirmative. 

“Hypothetically speaking, if your son grew into a twisted man with a dream of killing all the Pa–Muggles in the world, would you still love him? Support his ambition? Will you still stand by his side as he tortured, killed, and commit all the evils in the world?”

The office grew silent, and after five minutes of no answer, Marcaunon sighed and opened his eyes – feeling quite disappointed without knowing why. His heart had gone cold, and he wondered if he was catching something. The sight that greeted him made him startle, and he almost toppled over Death’s chair when all he could see was Lily Potter’s face, only a few centimeters away from his.

She had a concentrated look on her face, and before he could demand for her to leave his personal space, she gave him a blinding smile. It confused him how she could smile like that in his presence.

“I will stand by his side. He is my son, and as his mother, it is my duty to always be there for him. Besides, no matter what kind of person he may turn out to be, I know that he will make the correct choices in life, and if he wishes to wipe out all the Muggles, he must’ve had a good reason. I believe in him.”

His eyes softened and he gave her a small, yet very true, smile.

“Thank you for your honesty, Lily Potter. If I could, I would loved to have met your alternate self – my mother. Thank you for sacrificing your life for me, even if it was another you.”

He saw her eyes widened and as her lips parted as if to speak, but he snapped his fingers, transferring her to the reincarnation realm, where her soul would be reincarnated. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling grateful at Death for having brought the soul of Lily Potter – even if it’s another Lily Potter – to him.

“How was the encounter, Master?” Death said from behind of him.

“… Alright. It was alright.”

“You’re smiling, my Master.” At Death’s words, Marcaunon brought his fingers to touch his lips, which was curved upwards into a smile. Death’s hand covered his, and his chin was tilted upwards so that he was staring into Death’s familiar emerald green eyes. “It’s lovely. I do wish you would smile more often though.”

He laughed, feeling quite elated from the experience and Death’s compliment.

“Thank you, Death.” And he just knew that the entity knew that his gratitude was not only for the compliment, but also having let him talk to a Lily Potter who was also a mother, yet not at the same time.

“You’re very much welcome, Master.” He was pulled to stand at Death’s side, and he felt those slender arms around his waist. “Shall we head back?”

He nodded as he rested his head on his companion’s chest. With that, the two disappeared from Death’s realm, and reappeared at Marcaunon’s office, Chaos already waiting there for them with crossed arms.

His son only raised a questioning brow, but before he could babble out an excuse, Chaos had had his arms wrapped around Marcaunon for a hug. He, without question, returned said hug.

When they parted, his teenage son handed him a wrapped package with the wording _Happy Mother’s Day_. He blinked the wetness from his eyes and grinned at his boy.

“Happy Mother’s day, Mom. Thanks for bringing me into this world. Now that I’m older, I’ll be the one to take care of you.”

Marcaunon did not reply his son, he only wrapped his arms tightly around Chaos, and if his son’s uniform was a little wet, he blamed it on the rain – even though they were indoors. 


	24. People are full of misunderstandings!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though some of you may have expected this to be more of a HP/Bleach crossover chapter, my brain farted and I decided to cut it short. The main focus of this chapter is the bond between Chaos and Marcaunon rather than my original plan of them having a vacation with the Bleach characters and bringing back a weapon of mass destruction to blow apart the Resident Evil dimension. Please do not skip this, because this will be important for character development and plot. There are some unimportant parts that you may skip regarding the explanation of Souls and Spirits of the Bleach universe, but other than that... I will slap you silly if you do skip the important bits!
> 
> I apologize for the 1-year delay in updating. But hey, at least I managed, right? Hahaha...... I'm so sorry! Let me apologize with a dogeza! m(_ _)m

Marvolo had a dark smile (hidden by his fingers) the moment he heard the satisfying sound of wood smacking wood. The fact that they were finally free from prying eyes the second the doors of his bedchamber slammed shut was something he cherished every day.

Privacy was truly a hard thing to find these days - even in his own manor - when everything he did was keenly observed with awe/fear by his ever-growing band of followers. 

The sound also indicated that this was high time for him to stop playing the part of giving the highest form of rewards in the form of pleasuring others.

Although... this was something hard to obtain since he hated the thought of touching someone unworthy of him, even for a short while.

His _companion in bed_ for tonight, Abraxas, was looking at him with excitement that was borderline disturbing. It was revolting how eager these people were to have a taste of him - yet he also felt extremely dominating that his appearance alone was enough to intoxicate someone to lose control of themselves.

With a playful smirk that made the blonde's eyes dilate with desire, he tilted the Malfoy Lord's chin to forcefully establish eye contact, all the while his thumb moved in circles as if to relax his partner for the night.

It took no longer than a minute before the blond was put into his control. Abraxas became dazed, and as soon as Marvolo's fingers had left the man's chin, he fell onto the bed with a soft thump - similar to a puppet who had their strings cut.

A snap of his fingers later made a few adult toys appear beside of the blonde. They were all situated for males more than females.

"Pleasure yourself to exhaustion." Was all he said as he made his way to his secondary desk, clothes already on his person.

It was with practiced ease that he ignored his ex- classmate's wanton moaning in order to stare at the two photos of his... family members.

The one with the both of them in one frame was his current favorite. The two younger Gaunts were whispering to one another secretly, tiny smiles on their faces, before they turned to wave at him cutely.

Without being aware of his actions, he caressed their cheeks as he thought of them - mainly; how to meet them without scaring them off. He knew he was intimidating.

The younger of the two, Marchosias, wouldn't be much of a problem since he was still young (easily manipulated by sweets and smiles), so perhaps having an _accidental_  encounter would be best. A bump in the road would lead to many other pathways.

But time was also not on his side - like so many others.

He knew he had to act fast because of the latest call. Marcaunon was in a bad state when they had first met in that horrible yet realistic dream, and if he had unintentionally activated the call a second time with such broken and empty eyes...

Marvolo's eyebrows knitted as he stared unseeingly at the moving photo.

 

* * *

 

 _Date: Unknown_  
_Location: Unknown_  
_Dimension: Anime – Bleach_

 

This dimension was truly interesting. Marcaunon pushed his rose-tinted glasses up (and made them glint menacingly when it reflected the lights at the right angle) as he hid a small smile with his fingers. 

After they had gotten mixed and tangled up with their currently unknown company, the three of them were brought to a decent enough candy store – Urahara Shoten, the sign had read – but not before being thoroughly amused at the drama that had unfolded atop the magic flying blanket-carpet thing.

It seemed that one of the teenagers had been manipulated badly by the blonde haired man wearing a bucket hat and the latter had bowed his head low and apologized. He didn't quite catch what the topic was about, but he didn't really care to ask.

All he cared about at that moment of time was that he had witnessed a Japanese dogeza after hearing so much about it from Death. It was brilliant.

For now, they were currently seated around a low table, and it was beyond crowded. Chaos was taking it all well (what with his phobia) as he was on his godfather's lap, his hair being petted as if to calm the lad down.

Whilst the room was silent from all the awkwardness, Marcaunon took the opportunity to stare studiously at the hot drink that had been prepared for him and the other guests - or to be more precise, his eyes had not once strayed from the odd Japanese cup that had no handles. Somehow, he thought it cute and decided to snitch a few before returning back to their original dimension. It was also Slytherin green so that was a plus into making Chaos turn a blind eye.

It was a moment of intense staring later that he decided that he should drink his tea to not be rude to his hosts.

With a tentative sip of his drink (green tea, he hummed in his mind) he swirled it around his mouth for a minute or so before swallowing.

No poison detected.

As he looked up to give a signal that it was safe for them to drink, he blinked owlishly when he saw that everyone was staring at him in a peculiar manner.

"Is something the matter?" He raised a questioning brow.

Chaos was the first one to look away, his nose wrinkled adorably as he sipped his tea ("no juice" "it's very bitter-" "no. juice."), not at all hiding his disappointment at Marcaunon for playing around with his tea.

He resisted the urge to blow his son a raspberry - he didn't want to listen to another one of his 'act your age' lectures.

Death was the second person to look way. Its face was a cold indifference... to people who don't know It, anyway. That petty party of a deity was laughing at him.

How rude! 

Sometimes, he honestly wondered if he was truly Its master. What with how often he was bullied by his so called servant.

And he was only checking for poison (amongst other stuff)! Honest.

The third person to look away... was actually not a person. It was the black cat that sounded like a perverted old man. And the cat had snorted.

An animal. Had snorted. At him.

Somehow, Marcaunon found that awfully charming.

Cats are love. Cats are life. Cats are justice.

Why won't Death transform into a cat? It has always converted into a dull and bland black mamba. Sure the form was intimidating, but if It were a cat, Marcaunon wouldn't have evaded his paperwork so desperately. Bloody hell, he would even sit on his arse obediently and sign everything diligently for twenty straight hours... on the condition of allowing him to pet and cuddle with It anytime he wanted, of course.

"Nah. That's not it." The first person to speak up was the orange haired teenager that was garbed in a black shihakushō (if he was not wrong, the direct translation was Garment of Dead Souls) and was armed with a huge butcher knife strapped to his back. He frowned a lot as well. "You won't die after drinking his tea - but you'll die if you eat his food."

Blunt with a sense of humor. Marcaunon decided that he liked this Mortal.

"How mean, Kurosaki-san!"

The blond that was wearing the ugly white and green bucket hat pouted, his cheeks puffed out as he playfully glared at the teen.

Kurosaki shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, his eyes moving from Mort to Chaos and back to Marcaunon.

"So who're you guys? You don't seem dead to me."

"That's good because I don't seem dead to me too. Well, since we all don't know each other, I think an introduction is in order. I'm Gaunt Marcaunon. This is me adorable baby boy Marchosias. And this here is my beloved long-time partner Mort. Since our names are hard to be pronounced by the Japanese tongue, I'll allow you to shorten our names to Marc and Chaos. Better than to completely butcher our names otherwise."

He smiled his Hufflepuff smile as he introduced them, not at all noticing how his words and expression don't match.

"Right. Then, Marc-san -"

Marcaunon was quick to interrupt.

"Please drop the honorifics. We're foreigners so it sounds weird."

"Very well~!" Bucket-head snapped out a fan, using the tip to point at every person whilst he introduced them. "This is Kurosaki Ichigo. His hair color is natural if you were wondering. Beside him is Ishida Uryuu. Please don't mind his obsession with the color white. Next is Orihime Inoue. She's our... important healer. This silent one is Yasutora Sado. We all call him Chad, though. Yoruichi-san. My assistant; Tessai. Lastly, I am called Urahara Kisuke, a humble candy store owner~!"

When he finished with their introductions, Kisuke snapped open his fan to cover the lower half of his face (a habit?), those shrewd gray eyes watching them closely.

Whilst the man was busy with that, Marcaunon decided that he should mentally catalog everything... and turn their names around if he didn't want to mix everything up.

The orange haired, blunt teen who was always scowling was called Ichigo Kurosaki. Ichigo. Strawberry? Why? He was also kinda alive. Maybe. Half-half.

The black haired teen with the central parting and glasses was called Uryuu Ishida - and he has an obsession with white? A human on the verge of being Parasitic. Unimportant, even if he was a glasses buddy.

Inoue Orihime. An adolescent with plenty of chest fats. She was also the lone girl in their team(?). A human with some kind of healing power. Hers was the most similar to Magic.

The tallest and buffest high schooler Marcaunon have ever laid eyes upon was a really quiet one. He has dark skin, and kind eyes which are usually blocked by his curly dark brown hair - Sado Yasutora, who everyone calls Chad. A Mexican-Japanese mix. A human with a mixture of a spirit's powers.

Yoruichi. The black cat with sharp golden eyes. Cute, but has the voice of an old man. Cats are justice. Also a spirit with incredible powers.

For Tessai, he was a large, muscular, (very) tall man with a blue apron and weird hairdo. Marcaunon was deeply impressed by Tessai's rectangular shaped glasses. He has always had a fascination with glasses. In fact, they were now glasses buddy (in his head only, though)!

Last of all, Kisuke Urahara. The blonde with a weird sense of fashion. From his bucket hat to his wooden Japanese sandals. Also, a humble(?) shopkeeper, apparently. The strongest spirit in this room.

That should be everyone for now.

With a bright smile that could put the sun to shame (Death's words, not his) Marcaunon decided that since they were currently on a family trip, he should quickly find the cause of Death's sudden need to work from here so that they could enjoy the rest of the year away.

"Yess yess. Pleasure to meet everyone and all that - not to be rude or anything, but we're kind of in a hurry. Have any of you seen a hazardous tiny round object that could potentially destroy the world if misused by a dangerous person around?"

The air took a turn for the worse and the room became filled with tension. Marcaunon was, to be expected, confused at the sudden 180 change of their hosts. The teenagers all became suspicious of them whilst Kisuke and the cat looked ready to slit Marcaunon's throat.

He felt the two emit their Magical pressure(?) mixed with killing intent, and it appeared to be suffocating the teens. Judging by their reactions, they were unused to such things.

Marcaunon's scarlet orbs landed on Chaos - who was pre-occupied with drinking his tea, a bored expression on his childish face, and Death who was tying pigtails with Chaos's hair.

He was unable to hold back his laughter but was quick to cover it up by forcing a few coughs.

Looks like he need not worry about his little boy. The... energy was heavy like gravity was pushing down on them, but it was easily ignored by the three of them. Rather, it wasn't even worth noting. Was this a butchered version of Death's Magic? It seemed similar, but different as well.

It was as if it had evolved in a totally different direction.

Hm. It was better to be safe than sorry.

 ** _"Chaos dear,"_ ** He cooed/hissed in Parseltongue, his smile not wavering even when Kisuke instantly had his sword out and the tip just a few centimeters away from beheading Marcaunon. _**"There will be no usage of Magic from now on. This would be too easy, otherwise - although your safety will be prioritized and not jeopardized."**_

 ** _"Duly noted, mother."_** Chaos dear replied whilst refilling his cup. 

Why was his son such a tea fanatic?

"I would advise that the two of you speak in a language that we all understand." The cat, Yoruichi, casually threatened, their tail flicking from left to right in irritation.

"Ah! Please accept my apologies, neko-chan (cat). I often fall back into the habit of speaking my native tongue when I'm at a loss of what to say. My dear son only reprimanded me for it."

"Haah? Don't take us for fools -"

"Is this really the right time?" Chaos butted in, interrupting neko-chan quite suddenly. "They're dying."

Everyone turned to the direction of where Chaos was pointing.

Three of the four teenagers have already reached their limit and had passed out, with the last one breathing heavily as he glared daggers into Kisuke's head.

The blonde smiled sheepishly and the pressure he and the cat emitted were snuffed out instantaneously. He was also back to his seat with a paper fan in hand, covering the lower half of his face yet again. His sword may have looked like it had disappeared from sight, but with his seeker-trained eyes, he saw Kisuke sheathe it into his cane.

"Fuck! I seriously thought we were going to die! What the hell was that for, Urahara?! Yoruichi?!" Ichigo cursed as he stood on shaky legs. Tessai stood along with him, and they both silently agreed to carry the three unconscious teens out of the room and back to their homes.

Just before they left, however, Ichigo threatened to beat Kisuke into a bloody pulp if he ever did that to his friends ever again, which had the man sweating bullets as he laughed shakily.

When they were finally gone, the blonde's focus was once again on Marcaunon. He had to wonder if they had somehow forgotten Death's existence - which wasn't unusual since death was literally everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Poor Death... who was happily playing with Chaos's hair - which was currently being braided by skillful fingers.

... Arsehole. Just be forgotten already, you bloody wanker-

He was nudged by the very wanker he was cursing, and he turned to see his two hosts awaiting something from him.

"Hm? Oh my. Would it be rude for me to ask you to repeat that? I was lost in my head, you see?"

He gave them an apologetic smile as he made a grab for his cup, but due to his vindictive nature, had _accidentally_  knocked over the cup and spilled it all over Death's robes (Chaos wasn't hit, if anyone was wondering!).

Fufufufufu!

_OOOO_

_POV: Marchosias_

 

He stared at the cat (animagus?) with unfocused eyes as his mother smiled his signature ~~scary~~  closed eye smile. Marchosias, now reluctantly known as Chaos by this world's inhabitants, was lost in his thoughts, wondering how on earth his godfather had transported them to another realm.

He knew it was theoretically impossible.

The only possible thing about world transportation is via time travel, reincarnation, or alternate universes. Which, to his detached amusement, he fell into all three categories.

He had traveled back at least four decades from his original timeline, died and reincarnated into someone different, all the while there was secretly another him traversing around.

It was kind of funny in a wry way.

Also, he seriously needed to confront his mother. The man held too many secrets. And too many secrets can cause their relationship to go sour. He ignored his own hypocrisy and contemplated how to get his mother to open up.

As he mulled over his hypotheses, he absentmindedly played with the nearest thing in his reach – which was, unfortunately, the cat's tail (that felt similar to his cat onesie, to be truthful). He wrapped it around his wrist before he unwinded and used it as a makeshift quill.

He wrote invisible theories using the tip of the cat's tail, and eventually, was pulled back into reality when he noticed the lack of ongoing conversations.

He peered up from his eyelashes and raised a brow in askance when he saw everyone staring at him. Somehow, this scenario seemed similar.

"What? Is there something on my face?" He patted his face using his free hand, wondering if there were any leftover tea residue around his lips.

"Not at all." His mother sounded amused, and he was patted on the head like some silly child. It made him scowl.

It was degrading and he felt insulted to be treated like a little kid – dutifully ignoring the fact that he currently was a little kid.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his mother but abruptly yawned. Curse this body!

"As you can see, Kisuke, it's past my son's bedtime." Mother stood up with unmatched grace. It always amazed him how his mother could act so contradictive and so… natural all the time. "If you will excuse us, I think it's time we take our leave."

"Maa maa, why not stay the night, Marc?" Kisuke smiled brightly at his own idea and continued to talk as if they had already agreed to his suggestion. "Tessai will prepare the rooms. We can finish our discussion after we've all rested. Your son already looks dead on his feet."

"A room is enough. We usually sleep together, anyway."

"Then everything's settled." Yoruichi, the black cat, agreed.

If cats could leer, he would be leering right about now as he stared at Marchosias with a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Although you would have to release my tail first, young one, even if it's too fluffy to resist – it is a part of me, after all, and I've been told I'm simply irresistible."

As soon as his brain processed those words, he released said tail from the confines of his hand as if burnt. He shot a glare at his own appendage, feeling betrayed that his body was actually behaving similarly to the child he appeared to be – for example, grabbing the most fluffy, or toy-like thing nearest to him. He was seventy-seven, a grown man, for Merlin's sake!

He didn't notice as he was being carried off to who knows where by who knows who, his exhaustion finally catching up to him, yet his mind stayed firmly on the subject of brewing an aging potion as soon as humanly possible. A permanent aging potion more preferably.

But first; sleep. His young body can't handle any more of this.

When he came to, he was snuggled in between his godfather and mother, his clothes already changed into a onesie by you-know-who. Mother was wearing a baggy white shirt (only), and Mort slept without showing an ounce of skin - even his face was covered with a mask. The usual.

What was unusual was Marcaunon not covering his scars with glamours. He felt a warm and bubbly sensation spreading across his chest, and he smiled as he softly patted his mother's scarred cheek lovingly. 

It felt... amazing to be trusted by the man he cherished.

The warmness was soon ruined by the urge to yawn - and yawn he did. It made his eyes water, and when he stretched as he sat up, the two adult's arms on his torso fell to his lap.

Still, in a daze, he made the two hands on his lap interlock with one another as he slipped out of bed, the pitter patter of his feet moving away and out of the room.

Since he was unfamiliar with this place, he decided that it wouldn't hurt to explore - it was one of his habits to secure as many emergency escape routes just in case. 

He stopped by the closest room and without much thought, slid open the door to get a glimpse of what was inside.

What he saw made him wide-awake.

Kisuke was... having some fun with a beautiful woman he did not recognize but felt familiar - the energy she has, that is. Whilst they were _distracted_ by each other, he closed the door and ~~ran away without looking back~~  retreated.

Perhaps he should have a destination in mind - the kitchen, preferably, to avoid such a thing ever again. 

His stomach agreed with him, so he pitter-pattered everywhere until he landed in front of the kitchen, where Tessai, the shopkeeper's assistant, was busy with making breakfast.

He minds not the man and went straight towards the coffee machine, staring at it with drool accumulating inside of his mouth.

It took all of his self-control to not levitate a stool so he could stand on it and brew some coffee.

As if reading his mind, Tessai brought forth a stepping stool (why did they have one?) and nodded when Marchosias politely thanked the man. 

For the first time in years, he was finally brewing his own cup of coffee.

Hogwarts was filled with ambient Magic, so any technology brought into the castle would malfunction - or explode.

He may hate Muggles, but their inventions were seriously missed by him - especially the tools they invented when it came to brewing divine coffee. A coffee machine was enough excuse for him to allow some Muggles to live. He just needed to cut down on their numbers a little. They breed like cockroaches, anyway.

As soon as his coffee was brewed just the way he liked it, he shoved the thoughts of mass genocide to the back of his mind in order to inhale the aroma of his drink, simply wanting to enjoy this moment where he could pretend that he was back in his adult body of Lord Voldemort.

Perfect.

_OOOO_

 

"Why are we here?"

"Why should we not be here, little one?"

"You're not a high school student, dad. And I'm not old enough for high school."

"But your uniform does fit, doesn't it?"

"It does, but it still doesn't answer my question as to why exactly are we pretending to be students."

"Then do you want me to send you to a daycare?"

"Where's Mort?"

"You're changing the subject, sweetheart."

"I want to see Mort in uniform."

"... Brilliant idea, my genius of a son! Mort! Mort, come out! I know you're there."

"... Little Lord..."

"If I have to suffer through this bullcrap, you'll go down with me, Mort."

So here they were, half an hour later, in front of a classroom where the homeroom teacher was telling the students that there would be transfers attending.

Most of the students were looking with interest, confusion, and love-struck eyes at Marcaunon, Marchosias, and Mort, respectively.

Marcaunon searched for the Mortals he knew behind his rose-tinted glasses, a little disappointed that he wasn't able to see all of their reactions because three of them weren't here - the teacher said something about how they rushed out to go to the toilet.

He let his Magic poke the dark haired teen, Uryuu, but didn't get any reaction at all, which made him wonder what had happened for the teen to have lost his powers overnight.

And since he has already lost his powers somehow, that made him a Parasite. And Parasites should be ignored.

With that in mind, he smiled fakely at everyone as he introduced himself. It was time to be a Hufflepuff again.

"Hello. I am called Marcaunon Gaunt, or Gaunt Marcaunon here in Japan. I'm not too familiar with the culture, so please excuse and correct me if I had not done something correctly. Pleased to meet your acquaintances."

"Gaunt Marchosias. A pleasure."

"Gaunt Mort. Don't touch me. Don't come near me. Lest you wish to die a gruesome death."

Well, that was nice of Death to warn them. Since the entity was showing far more skin than usual in Its uniform - which, by the way, made It look so human.

They were currently posing as brothers, and since Chaos was obviously too young to be in high school, he would be playing the genius who skipped grades - which was an easy role since Voldie would have breezed through high school.

There were a lot of questions thrown their way, and Marcaunon made it so that he would be seen as a really friendly guy by answering everything (with lies of course!). Not that hard since his son was anti-social and his servant just was not as interested in interacting with the living.

The day passed by just like that. It was super boring. He seriously wanted to torture a Parasite to elevate his boredom.

As soon as school ended, Death excused Itself and disappeared - probably to speak to Its minion that was in charge of this dimension.

With a shrug at little Chaos, they walked out of school and into a five-star hotel nearby. He preferred not to be in the presence of people who were too nosy for their own good. AKA; Kisuke and his lot.

He transfigured some leaves into a bundle of cash and told the receptionist that their stay in the hotel's most expensive suite was for an indefinite amount of time - a year if he estimated the amount correctly, which he did.

The worker looked incredibly happy and they were treated as VVIPs.

The days passed by slowly, and only Marcaunon was left with nothing to do but rot away in the hotel room.

Mana and Suki were cuddling away near the windowsill, absorbing the heat from the sunlight and he would loathe to disturb their tranquility. 

Chaos was busy with exploring the town alone, and Death was busy with his job.

He. Was. Bored!

So he made it a duty for him to mess around as much as possible. Helping Hollows (corrupted spirits that hunger for souls, be it living or deceased) and killing Parasites just for the heck of it.

He also found out that there were two types of spirits in this dimension.

Plus Souls were ordinary human spirits. They have a chain on their chest, and if it were to disappear or be pulled out, they would turn into a corrupt spirit. He would know since he did that every time he saw a Plus Soul.

The second type was Hallows. Corrupt spirits that used to be Plus Souls, but had overstayed their welcome in the human realm. Their chains gradually disappear and when there was nothing left, a hole would appear on their chest and they become Hallows.

There was also three types of 'realms' in this dimension.

The human realm - where humans live.

Hueco Mundo - where Hallows live.

Soul Society - where Plus Souls and soul reapers live.

Yes, soul reapers.

Not Death's minions, though.

Soul reapers were guardians of sorts to souls. They purify Hollows and ensure the safe crossing of Plus Souls into Soul Society by giving them a soul burial - where they simply just stamp the Plus Soul's forehead with the butt of their swords and they become a butterfly that disappears to Soul Society.

To put it simply; Death's minion, the Soul King, trained some Plus Souls and called them soul reapers. So that they could do his job for him.

What a lazy yet creative bloke!

Marcaunon also found out that the spirits here do not have Magic. They have Reiryoku (Spiritual Power). Every spiritual being and every single human have a certain amount of it. If they were born with a shite ton of Reiyoku, they were basically cheats with superhuman abilities.

Or to put it more easily... Living humans with above-average Reiyoku can see ghosts, though it is but a small percentage of them.

Anyway, being alone in the hotel suite was too boring.

Time to move.

It was an hour into his stroll that he heard something interesting.

"He's trying to create real Arrancar by using Hougyoku."

Marcaunon snapped his fingers with an exclamation of 'Ah!' - as if he remembered something important that he had somehow forgotten (not for the first time), causing the two soul reapers to turn to his direction sharply.

"Who's there?!" The man with a goatee barked out, those familiar eyes of his scanning the shadows of the alleyway where Marcaunon was in.

"... Hey." As he slowly emerged from the darkness, Kisuke's eyes widened with an emotion he couldn't identify because of how excited he currently was. "You said something about Hougyoku. That's the tiny thing I was looking for. Can I... steal some of your time?"

His grin was bloodthirsty as he looked directly into the man's eyes-

 

_OOOO_

 

"Mother, where are we?"

Chaos was confused as he looked around the place - a desert.

"The place where our prize is located at, of course!" He chirped, his smile sharp and full of teeth. "It looks like this." He whipped out a fake orb and cackled like a super villain. 

His little boy wagged a finger at him, looking unimpressed and a little irritated. He complied and squatted in front of Chaos without hesitation.

"Really. At least clean the blood off your face." Was said as his son wiped the left side of his cheek.

"So dependable! Thanks, love." His grin softened into a fond smile as he kissed his little boy's forehead in thanks. "We need to keep this a secret from De- Mort, okay?"

Chaos frowned at the slipped, but Marcaunon pretended to be oblivious. Out of mind. Out of mind.

"Under one condition."

Urk. Marcaunon's smile grew stiff as he stood up to stretch his back, trying to buy some time.

"I'll hear it out."

"No. You have to agree to it first."

He pursed his lips as he thought it through. Reading Chaos wasn't easy. The other Gaunt was devious, and if he agreed blindly, even he wouldn't be able to get out of it easily.

But...

He sighed.

This was his child.

Marchosias should have the right to know more about him, right? It was only natural for a child to be curious about their parent's mysterious past. 

And the secrets he held were heavy. For once, Marcaunon wanted to be truthful to his boy - his blood.

"Alright. Just one, though."

"Tell me all about your past. And try not to trick your way out. I want - no, I need to know what happened to make you the man you are now."

"That..."

"I will never shun you. I swear it. I will never reject you. So, please, tell me. I need to know, momma."

Momma, huh? Chaos was getting good at pulling his heart-strings. 

... It hurts.

Was Death right? Was it alright for him to move forward? Was it alright for him to open his heart and let another person in?

"I don't want you to come to hate me - and I know that you will."

He had once been his son's killer, after all.

"Never. I had promised myself long ago that I will never hurt you, momma - be it physically, mentally, or emotionally."

They stood in silence, the wind howling in their ears as they stared each other down, both of them wanting the other to submit.

Marcaunon was the first to look away, and Chaos knew that he had won this round.

A table was conjured, along with two armchairs. Marcaunon bought some time by preparing some snacks and tea with the ingredients he has in his trunk, and Marchosias allowed him all the time he needed to put his thoughts together.

When everything was prepared, they both seated themselves at the opposite side facing each other, a cup (the Japanese one he had snitched) of tea in their respective hands.

"Listen and don't interrupt, Marchosias. If you have questions, I will answer them to the best of my abilities afterward. Will you at least give me your word on that?"

"Yess. You have my word, momma."

Marcaunon looked down at his cup of tea, his nerves making him nibble on his lower lip. And then he began. He wasn't able to stop as the words left his lips and shameful tears gradually formed in his eyes.

"It all begun with a boy and a man. They were both brought up in different times, by different people, and different environmental situations - but they were, nevertheless, completely alike. They were... destined for greatness. But the price for that greatness was their happiness. And possibly their sanity as well.

"The boy was raised to be many things. A slave. A sacrificial lamb. A lion without claws. A chess piece. 

"Before he was even born, he was already picked by fate. A cruel destiny that he did not wish for. By the time he was one, his parents had been killed by a man who had lost his sight of everything but magic and was soon taken by an ambitious elderly who thought of him as nothing but a tool for his own outdated goals.

"The boy grew up in an abusive household. His uncle would always try to 'beat the magic' out of him and have never once called him by his name. No, that was wrong. The boy had always thought that his name was Freak. His aunt would force him to do endless amounts of chores, and if he had failed to complete them by the end of the day, he was not given any food. Water and stale bread were all he ate as he grew up. That was all the boy ever tasted for ten years. 

"The boy's cousin, a pampered fat kid that was far too young to think for himself, and could only imitate his parents, created a game. A game he played with his friends to hunt the boy down and make his already miserable life hell. The moment they catch him, he would be beaten black and blue. Every vase, every plate, and every toy his cousin breaks, a bone will be broken as his punishment by his uncle.

"He matured faster than the kids his age, but his body grew slower due to the lack of care his relatives gave him. The boy was a fast learner, though. He knew from books that family wasn't suppose to act like this. His mind was asking questions as to what he did to deserve this. He tried to be a good boy. But... They just wanted him dead. Clouded with sadness and anger, the boy swore revenge.

"The boy had already planned ahead of time. Where the moment he was able to survive by himself was the moment he would kill his relatives and run away. Maybe find someone who will take care of his needs - they don't even have to be in his age group. His vengeful streak grew the older he became. Magic helped in keeping him from being found out, but he got punished anyway. That was apparently his life in a nutshell. 

"That was the boy's childhood. It all changed when he reached the age of eleven. He was introduced into the astounding world of Magic. He was out of the frying pan... and he unknowingly jumped right into the burning flames.

"The boy had always been smart. He held no trust in the human race. His first friend was an owl. A beautiful white owl that he received as his first ever present. He told the owl everything. The owl never judged him.

"Before he was sorted with everybody, the elderly had personally come for him and brought the boy to his office. The boy was guarded and suspicious, but because he did not know anything of Magic, he fell into the elderly's webs.

"He was read like an open book. His personality, his attitude, his cruelness, his lack of faith - everything had been read by the elderly. And the elderly wasn't pleased because he grew up to be too similar to the man. The boy was forced into eating some kind of lemon candy, and then his very being was altered.

"The boy became kind. He became naive and full of trust. He was sorted into Gryffindor because of his courage and bravery. Because he would rather save others than himself.

"His friends were privately picked for him without him being aware. His future spouse had been chosen for him without his acknowledgment - many contracts had been signed without him knowing. Everything he did, was what the elderly wanted. He was a puppet. And as if his whole life was a play, he was blindly controlled by the strings. And he thought it was all him.

"The boy trusted the elderly's words as if the elderly was Merlin himself. He questioned nothing. He worshiped the ground the elderly walked on. He was blinded by happiness at having been praised that he did not notice how the elderly had been disturbed by the boy's lack of guilt for having burnt someone to death at the tender age of eleven. 

"During his second year, he met someone. A memory, they had said. The person he met was just like him. Alone. Abused. Wicked. They even look alike, you see? The only major differences was their height and eye color.

"The boy had the brightest green eyes that many compared to the Killing Curse, whilst the other had a lovely shade of red for eyes - the color the boy secretly compared to blood. It was at the moment when they were alone under Hogwarts - the Chambers - that the compulsion placed on the boy broke. He screamed, he raged, he cried, as his memories returned. Of how he was being forced to be a puppet by the puppetmaster.

"The other tried to help, but the headmaster appeared with his phoenix. He altered the boy's memory yet again, and as soon as the headmaster hid within the shadows, the boy became a lion once more. The other tried to make the boy remember, but the boy merely thought those words lies and stabbed the other with the fang of a basilisk.

"The memory, no, the soul of the other vanished, but the boy remembered. He remembered clearly how the other had reached for him and whispered not to trust the elderly. Those words stayed, even after having his memories altered time and time again. The boy was only twelve when he destroyed someone's soul permanently.

"Time passed by just like that, with the boy growing up with many magical bindings and restrictions - his mind splitting into two; the golden boy whenever he was in the presence of his puppetmaster, and the lonely child who wanted to break free of his chains but was not able to. 

"It was during his fourth year in the Magical world when he managed to break free of his latest compulsions. He dreaded and feared to go to Hogwarts. He wanted to run away from his Muggle relatives. He wanted to run away from the headmaster - the elderly. He wanted to run away from the man who hunted him because of a prophecy.

"But... Where can the boy run to? He was a freak to Muggles. He was a puppet hero to Light Magicals. He was an eyesore to Dark Magicals. He was alone, and could only trust himself to protect himself. Only his owl, his loyal companion, was there as he cried into her feathers, miserable and tired of living in fear. Days passed by, and soon... September drew near.

"The boy was then forced to compete in a tournament that had a high death rate, the elderly already given him a new set of orders for his kinder personality to break through his true one. He did everything foolishly, and when he was kidnapped, he was used as an ingredient to bring back the man - his parents' killer, the only one who had never lied to him. The one who he could trust to keep his word.

"The boy was then tortured, laughed at, and humiliated. He managed to escape but was declared insane by the population. Heh. After having his head played around by the elderly that much, of course, he would be insane.

"School was dangerous to the boy. Home was dangerous to the boy. People were dangerous to the boy. Even his owl had been taken away from him. The elderly was killed when the boy was sixteen, going seventeen. But before that, he was given yet another task - to collect three items. So collect them he did.

"The boy managed well enough with half his magical core bound, and his head full of compulsions that could make an average Magical reside permanently in St. Mungo's ward for the mentally ill. Whilst he collected those items, he destroyed the man's soul one by one, not knowing that... he was also one of the containers that held a small portion of the man's soul.

"That piece of soul had combined with the boy's own over the years, and it would be impossible to remove unless the boy killed himself. That was what the elderly wanted. That was his first goal - to martyr himself. His second was the three items.

"Immortality. The man and the elderly had one thing in common, and that was immortality. The man, not knowing that the boy had suddenly broken through the elderly's control at the very last moment of their duel, dug his won grave.

"The boy howled with uncontrolled rage. He roared at the unfairness of it all. Why was he chosen? Why couldn't everybody leave him be? Why was fate so cruel to him? Why did his own soul-brother even want his death?

"The boy's eyes bled crimson at that point of time (though only for a short moment) due to the man's soul piece's influence, and when the man was too shocked, the boy managed to kill the man. He relished in the moment, loving the way the man's body had crumbled away. It was a short moment before his chest began hurting. And he broke.

"The boy cried, unable to stop as he dug and tried to glue back the crumbled body of the man. His soul was calling to the man, yearning to be reunited with the man. But he was gone. The man was already gone. It was too late. The boy's realization was... too late.

"Everyone congratulated the boy. They praised him. They worshiped him. They screamed in joy, spat at the man's grave, and laughed as they celebrated for the peaceful future years to come, free from the man's tyranny.

"The boy decided to that if he wanted to survive, he needed to act. He pretended that everything was alright. He pretended to be ok. He pretended that he was the lion without the claws. He pretended to love someone he held no feelings for. He pretended to be someone else that was not him.

"Years. Decades. Time passed by slowly for him. The people closest to him were the first to find out about his emptiness. They tried to fix him. To fill him. They failed. They dislike the true him. They hated the real him. The boy was once again, being played with by fate.

"The boy was exiled. And for the first time in decades, the boy felt free. He embraced the feeling of being his own man and created bonds with creatures and people that he had never expected would be dear to him in the future.

"He created his own island, where race didn't matter. Where blood didn't matter. Where discrimination wasn't there. Where prejudices don't exists. Where Light and Dark and everything in between doesn't matter. Where everyone laughed together as they all experimented on Muggle inventions so that they could move forward from their stagnant ways. He loved everyone living on his island, and the community loved him in return.

"Everyone heard of his island soon enough. Of how advanced and how dangerous they were. Everyone not on his island wanted his island. War bloomed. Lives extinguished. Death hovered. The boy lost everything yet again, but not because he was weak. No. It was because the Magicals weren't discreet.

"Muggles found Magic. War had already cut their numbers, so when the war between Muggles and Magicals commenced, Magicals had already lost so much. It was a one-sided slaughter.

"The boy was the last Magical to survive, and it was no thanks to the three items that the elderly wanted. The boy was... immortal. He could not die. The Muggles grew envious. They wanted immortality as well. Because billions of Muggles were chasing him, the boy was eventually caught.

"He was experimented on. He was played with. He was slowly losing himself as other humans, his non-magical counterparts, slowly killed him without truly killing his him. Every day he prayed to for salvation.

"... Nobody gave that to him. The Earth began to dry up. Muggles weren't able to reproduce because of all the chemicals they have used to kill off the Magicals. The air became polluted. The sky turned blackish green. The ocean dried up. Mother Earth was dying. She needed Magic to purify everything. Yet Magic denied her. The boy denied her. He denied her because he grew tired. The earth could crumble away, for all he cared. Maybe then will the boy meet death. 

"The boy was able to escape his prison, and because the Muggles were slowly dying away, he became the hunter this time around. Everything in the boy's mind was madness. He wanted nothing but the blood of Muggles. Those parasitic creatures that took but never return. They were... are Parasites.

"He hunted them. Toyed with them. Laughed in their faces as he killed their families in front of them. He loved every second of it. Yet he also hated every second of it. He hid behind his rose-tinted glasses, running away from reality. The madness of his own mind was now his prison. 

"Parasites were now scarce, and as they grow older, they become less determined to live. Lucky them. They were able to escape anytime they wanted. They were not immortal. The boy had not seen any Parasites for months. The only companion he has was a retarded snake that only wanted fat rats. It wasn't a great conversation partner, but he made due.

"The world was dying... and so was he. He didn't know what to do. The boy could only stare out from his window, waiting for the Earth to crumble just like how the man had crumbled. He wanted to crumble.

"But... one day... A being appeared in front of the boy. The being called Itself Death. And Death had called the boy Its Master. They both talked, and soon, plans were made. The boy came to know what Hope felt like.

"Death had moved them to another dimension, and as the boy grew up there in an orphanage where his main caretaker was Death Itself, he smiled. For the first time in a long time, the boy felt content.

"The boy grew up, but this time, he was not alone. He had a servant that was more of his forever companion. He had a soul in his hand that would one day become his son. He had a lot of Parasites that he could hunt and one day finally exterminate. And lastly, he had a name that he knew ever since he first opened his eyes in that new universe where the sky is blue and the air is fresh.

"The boy's name is Marcaunon Seirios Gaunt. And... The boy... Me... I...  I'm finally able to say that I'm happy to be where I am right now."

With his head bowed, hair shadowing his face, and his grip on the cup making his fingers white from the lack of blood circulation, he waited for Marchosias's response.

The silence was deafening, and the only thing he was capable of hearing was the blood rushing through his ears as adrenaline was pumped into his system. 

Marcaunon was terrified. What would Marchosias think of him now? Will he ever be called mother by Marchosias ever again? 

He knew that he was a selfish man for wanting happiness after what he had done. It had all been his fault that his original world had been on the verge of crumbling. Was this karma? Was he destined to be unhappy?

Marchosias wasn't stupid. The boy in the story was obviously Harry Potter. The man was obviously Tom Marvolo Riddle/Lord Voldemort. The elderly was obviously Albus Dumbledore.

Now, his son knew the truth.

Lord Voldemort knew the truth.

His soul-brother knew the ugly truth. 

Big fat tears began to roll down his cheeks, and all he could do was cry silently, his shoulders slumped and his expression devoid of any life.

He wanted to crumble away. 

He wondered what it felt like... to crumble away.

"Raise your head."

He would not.

So he shook his head, his tears sprinkling down onto the desert floor and evaporating almost immediately upon contact due to the intense heat.

He heard a sigh, and couldn't help but flinch as he imagined how angry, disappointed, disgusted, and irritated Marchosias must be right now with him.  

The sound of clothes rustling against the wind almost made him raise his head due to how close it had sounded. He resisted and curled tighter into himself - even bringing up his knees so that his face was thoroughly covered.

"Look at me."

No.

"Look at me..."

No.

"Look at me!"

No!

"Please... Look at me..."

...

"Why. Why won't you look at me?"

This was torture.

He would rather Marchosias just shout, scream, and yell at him and be done with it.

"Are you disappointed in me?"

That immediately made Marcaunon's head snap up, pure horror written on his tear stricken face.

"No! I have never been disappointed in you! Why did you say that?! I should be the one to ask you that question!"

"Because you wouldn't look at me!" Was the half-hysteric reply he received. It caused him to widen his scarlet eyes in shock since he has never heard Marchosias sound so desperate before. "I... I am unfamiliar with the ways of comforting others. I don't know what to do in a situation such as this. After hearing your past, you should clearly know that I used to be a Dark Lord. The only way I solve my problems is to get rid of them."

"Are you frustrated?"

"Obviously I am."

Haha. Marchosias was probably thinking of ways to get rid of him. Marcaunon deserved it.

"I'm frustrated because I caused you cry, again, even though I had promised myself to never hurt you. I'm also frustrated that the way I solve my problems won't be effective in regards to you. I may be inept at the department of emotions, but let me tell you this straight, you idiot of a parent - you're the same. I suppose we really are alike. We're both horrible at opening up. Though that can be blamed to our insecurities; such as how we loathe the thought of disappointing one another. For I, I would not want to see your smile disappear when I tell you that I am actually a seventy-seven-year-old man residing within your son's body. And for you, you did not wish to inform me that you were the one who had... as much as it pains me to say this, you were the one who ended my life. Rejoice, you dunderhead, because as much as I abhor Potter, the feelings of affection I have for my mother Marcaunon outweighs my hatred for your previous identity."

He couldn't help it. He burst out laughing - and if it was a little high pitched and insane, he would pretend to be oblivious to it all!

Everything had been a misunderstanding. They were truly alike. Their worries were even the same! How foolish. If he had just listened to Death, he would have been able to get everything out of his system faster. He truly was a fool. Death would definitely get into his face and poke his cheeks whilst saying; 'i told you so'.

"Heh. I feel like a fool now. To be lectured by someone who is in a body of a seven years old and is more emotionally constipated than I am. How lame."

"Indeed you are a fool. But you are mine. And I take care of what's mine."

"Possessive."

"I won't deny that."

"Will you continue to be my son?"

"Really, what am I to do with you. Had nothing entered the thing in between your ears?"

"Ah... Please spare me the lecture I know that will come about my intellect." 

"The things I do for you. Fine. I'll spare the lecture for now. But never forget this, mother - it matters not that your name used to be Harry Potter. It matters not that my name used to be Tom Riddle. All that matters now is that you're now Marcaunon Gaunt, and I am Marchosias Gaunt. We may have a few quarrels now and then after this big reveal, but we are kin. You taught me how to care, and I have already taken that lesson to heart. You are my treasure. Sorry, but you're stuck with me until death do us part. Because, as you know, Dark Lords loathe to let go of their treasures."

"Fufufu. But you're not a dark lord."

"... You're ruining the tear-jerking moment I painstakingly tried to set up, mother."

"Meh. I'm sure you can do it again, oh genius son of mine."

Small hands cupped his cheeks gently as slender fingers began to rub soothing circles across his cheekbones and jaw. He could not help but lean into the touch, his eyes half-lidded as he fought the lull of sleep. 

"Sleep. I'll be here when you're awake."

Right.

Marcaunon closed his eyes as he leaned against his son - and oh, how happy he was to be able to call Chaos dear his son once again. After they were well rested, he would properly explain the reason as to why they were here, what they would snitch from this dimension, and finally, the bloody paperwork Death kept on sending to him.

And then when he was done with the explanations, they can relax in this dimension for a year, just getting to re-know each other. Of course, they would be keeping the fact that they had the orb of destruction a secret until the last day from Death. If that workaholic were to find out that Marcaunon had already known the location of the orb, they would be home before he could say 'treacle tart'!

**[Line Break]**

_Date: 1 September 1968_  
_Location: Hogwarts, Marc's bedchamber_

  
Amidst fluttering white butterflies stood an inky portal that was darker than black itself. It was oozing with negative (death) energy, and if one were to be exposed to it for a prolonged period of time, they would definitely turn mad.

If it could be described with a word, it would be the Abyss.

Well, not to Marcuanon though.

He, along with his now 8 years old son (and two serpents that had rushed out of the bedchamber immediately), was spat out of Death's portal like they were unwanted pests.

Whilst Chaos had safely landed on their shared bed, Marcaunon himself had been thrown to the floor and almost had his neck broken by how fast he was going.

With a few curses leaving his lips, he popped his shoulder back into place as he glared nastily at Death, who had somehow appeared in front of him, Its Avada colored eyes bright with satisfaction.

How someone so ancient could be so petty, Marcaunon would never know.

As if reading his mind, It snorted at him rudely before disappearing along with Its portal, as if never here the first place. Probably to work. Death was dedicated like that. Like how It was dedicated to breaking a few of his bones when It found out that he had the orb of destruction the whole time just a few minutes ago.

Ah, he would need to watch out for fish bones in his candies now. Yes, Death can cause someone to choke on a fish bone whilst eating candy and die. Terrifying. 

He distracted himself by turning his attention to something other than dying. His butterflies were all fluttering around him excitedly as they welcomed him home, and Marcaunon smiled with soft eyes as he patted them one by one with a finger. He had truly missed his sinners.

"Are you alright, mother? I heard something similar to a bone being shattered."

"You worry too much, love. Just Mort being his usual loving self." He stretched with a pleasurable groan (and ignoring a few broken ribs that would heal soon) as he lay down on the floor. He felt truly at home in Hogwarts. It was as if the castle itself was welcoming him home with invisible hugs and kisses.

Marchosias shuffled around the bedchamber, and as soon as the lad was near enough to him, Marcaunon grabbed him around the middle and hugged his little bundle of joy like a teddy bear.

Chaos simply sighed in resignation, although those ruby eyes of his were soft with fondness.

"The sorting will begin soon, mother."

"Yeah."

"And we should be getting dressed."

"Alright."

"Preferably now."

"Mhm."

"Dumbledore is getting beheaded at this year's sorting."

"Uh huh."

He heard a sigh, but it was distant as his eyelids fluttered close. He felt too comfortable to move.

Marcaunon found himself lying alone on an unknown bed in an equally unknown room a minute later - which would have caused him to be more alert if it were not for how safe he felt at being here.

He was feeling awfully lazy today, so he merely scanned the room with his eyes, and after finding that there was no threat, he relaxed his muscles and snuggled deeper into the Slytherin green blankets.

It was whilst he was busy being a cacoon that the door creaked open. He was at full attention immediately, and he rolled out of the bed, blanket being thrown messily aside in favor of whipping out his wand... which was not there.

Marcaunon blinked rapidly as he patted himself down, feeling awkward at not having a weapon on him... as well as suspicious at _not having a weapon on him!_

A sultry chuckle brought him out of his confusion, and he glowered at the shadowed figure leaning by the door. The room he was in was dark, and the only lighting he had was the lamp by his bedside.

"Who are you?" He demanded with a fierce glare, his eyes bleeding crimson.

"We should really stop meeting like this." the man stated with a wave of his hand, and as he paused in his speech, he made his way towards Marcaunon.

The face that was revealed to him made him gasp and took a step back.

"How...?"

"Simple. You called - and I answered."

The man, Voldemort, reached out a hand, and it hovered over Marcaunon's cheek hesitatingly before settling gently over the ugly scar.

They rubbed soothing circles over his flushed skin, and he almost leaned into the touch because it reminded him of Chaos. Almost.

"I thought you were gone." Voldemort's face was blank as he said those words, and his eyes held a certain emotion that Marcaunon couldn't quite decipher.

It was because of that emotion that Marcaunon withheld his tongue of any rude commentaries and simply remained silent and unmoving.

Those fingers gradually began to climb lower and settle on his neck, directly above his pulse.

His cousin was curiously fingering his disgusting scars, and for that, Marcaunon felt shameful. Tom Riddle was truly a beautiful specimen of the human race. And when compared to him...

He took a step back, letting the man's hand hover in between of them before they retreated.

"I would really like to stop meeting you like this." He whispered under his breath as he closed his eyes. "It's not good for my heart."

His lips parted and as he readied himself to speak of things he would have surely regretted, but then his cheeks were roughly pinched by childish fingers.

"Uweh?! Chaoosh?"

"Are you awake now, mother? We really need to get ready for the sorting. It's bad to be late for the first day of school - work." Chaos grumbled seriously as he continued to stretch Marcaunon's cheeks.

The boy looked positively unimpressed at him.

"Stahp dhat! Merlin. Somehow, it feels like our roles are always reversed."

"And you just realized that now? Really, mother, you truly are dense. You're lucky you have Mort and I to protect you."

"Is that any way to talk to your mother?" Marcaunon pouted as he stood up, his feet already bringing him towards his wardrobe. "With all of your impatientness, I would think you can't wait to see our esteemed headmaster."

Chaos choked on air as Marcaunon laughed cheerfully, happy that he had finally made his little boy speechless. Next on his list; Death - his death long companion. 

* * *

_**Rainbows and Fevers,** _   
_**GenderlessPerson** _


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